


Halo: Remnants

by Zektrannus25735



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms, RWBY
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Interspecies Romance, Original Character-centric, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Prequel, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7942603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zektrannus25735/pseuds/Zektrannus25735
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Spartan, a Huntress, a Warrior, and a Thief. 10 years before the Battle of Beacon, fate and bad luck bring new players to a forgotten corner of Remnant. Can these strangers set aside their differences long enough to help this new world and discover something beyond their war? Or will the darkness of the Grimm return them all to Dust?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Trailers

* * *

  **Bronze Trailer: Goodbye**

* * *

 

**Vale: Beacon Academy.** **16 years before the Battle of Beacon.**

 

It should be impossible this close to summer, but she had never felt so cold in all her life. She kept her head down, eyes on the floor if only to avoid the bone chilling glares being sent down by those around her. It was all she could do to stand still and maintain her posture, alone as the tick of the mechanisms and machinery around her echoed off her own thoughts.

_Failure. Disgrace. Betrayer. Murderer_.

“Ms. Verde?” She looked up, forcing her face into neutrality as she faced her headmaster, only to turn them down again when she saw the disappointment flowing from them.

“Yes Sir?” She said, not daring to move from her spot at the center of his office.

“I’ve already reviewed Ms. Rose’s report,” he said tiredly. “But I need to know your side of the story as well.”

“There’s nothing else to say Sir.” Her tone was just how she felt, hollow, emptied of the emotions that had come spilling out save for the pain of loss. It was one Ozpin had heard on the lips of far too many students

“Gabi,” He sighed, leaning forward in an attempt to find his student’s eyes. “You don’t need to do this to yourself. Summer’s report makes very clear that it was an accident. What happened was tragic, make no mistake, but you don’t have to shoulder the blame alone.”

“Someone has to be responsible. It was my decision to go in, my team that paid for my mistake.” She glanced up, finally meeting the headmasters brown gaze with her own emerald eyes. “My partner that died because of me.”

“… You do realize what this will mean for you? Beacon’s Conduct Code is very clear about the punishment for this sort of thing.”

“I understand Sir,” she said robotically, reaching up to remove the pin from her uniform, before walking to his desk and placing it in front of him. “I doubt I ever really deserved it anyway.” With that she turned, walking toward the elevator with all the self-control she had left.

“At least promise me you will say goodbye before you go. You owe them that much.” She said nothing, not even turning around as the elevator closed behind her. Ozpin sighed, turning back to the papers on his desk and closing the file he had been distracting himself with. A small shift revealed the folder and forms he now had no choice but to complete. A final signature was all it took, but as he went to close the file one last time, he glanced over the front page, the same one he himself had filled out nearly four years ago.

Team GLDD (Gilded). Just two weeks ago they were among his most promising students, a team full of natural leaders and raw talent who met every obstacle they faced with all they had. He couldn’t stop the bitter sweet smile that crossed his features, remembering the looks on all four students faces when he named Gabi, a shy girl who was more likely to listen than anything, to lead.

The headmaster’s brow furrowed at the memory of one particular reaction. Gabi’s partner, Leo Arnul had been outright furious about being passed over for leadership. Though he had settled down after the team’s first year, Ozpin knew the young lion faunas had never been the most cautious of fighters, but he made up for it with a charisma and charm that would be sorely missed. Truthfully he wouldn’t be surprised if Leo had been the one to urge the rest of GLDD to investigate those caves, not knowing they’d be walking into a Deathstalker nest. Now the same unwavering sense of duty, the very reason he appointed her leader, had driven Gabi into a self-imposed exile.

 

“You can’t do that!”

“It’s already done Derrick,” she sighed, looking anywhere but her teammates, former-teammates scathing glare. “Ozpin’s signing the papers right now.” Derrick Beryl wanted nothing more than to reach out and smack his team leader across the face, but all the thought did was remind him why Gabi was so set on her decision.

“Dust-dammit Gabi it wasn’t your fault! We were the ones who wanted to go into that cave not you!”

“That doesn’t matter!” she snapped, the tears finally starting to trickle and flow down her cheeks. “I didn’t have to say yes. I could have said no but I didn’t and look what happened!” Derrick looked down, down to the sheets outlining his legs, legs that he knew would never respond no matter how hard he willed them to move again. Looking up was no better, the soft chime of a monitor drawing his attention to the bed where their other teammate lay silent and still. But for all the pain of seeing her lie there trapped in a coma, knowing he himself would never walk again, none of it compared to knowing their fourth member, his leaders partner, was never coming home.

“Leo’s dead because of me,” Gabi sobbed, leaning on the frame of Derrick’s bed. “He _trusted_ me. Ozpin _trusted_ me to get you all home safe and I failed. Leo was right. I never deserved to be leader.” Derrick wanted to slap some sense into her, tell her they wouldn’t have lasted one semester with Leo in charge, but his own grief choked the words before they reached his lips.

For all his reckless bravado the gold haired faunas had earned a special place in all their hearts. Even in the middle of a Grimm horde he’d still be smiling, shouting and roaring with the thrill of the fight. Now that smile, that cheesy cocked to one side tooth filled grin he’d always toss at them, the look that told everyone around them everything would be all right, was gone forever.

“Where will you go?” he asked, throat dry from his own tears and the infirmaries food.

“I don’t know,” she answered numbly. “Somewhere no one knows my name. Shouldn’t be too hard for me,” she laughed bitterly.

“You know you’re always welcome on Patch,” he said softly, reaching out and placing a bandaged hand over Gabi’s folded digits. “Dad’s always going on about how we need more help with the beowolves. Dust knows I’m not going to make a very good huntsman without my legs.”

“Maybe,” she sighed. “But I doubt Qrow would let me anywhere near Patch now.”

“Hey,” Derrick said, placing a hand on his leader’s shoulder and turning her gaze toward his. “If that mangy bird tries anything, you just tell him I’ll.”

“WHERE IS SHE?!” The door slammed open, and Derrick knew he would’ve jumped a foot in the air if he’d still had control of the muscles needed to. The stark white room seemed to melt under Raven Branwen’s burning gaze, the Huntress’s red eyes searching the room. 

“Hey Rave,’ Derrick smiled weakly, only to wilt under the woman’s glare, making sure he didn’t glance to the now empty seat beside him.

“Beryl,” she half snarled, stomping over to the paralyzed student. “Where is Gabi? And what the dust is with the rumor about her getting expelled?!” Derrick recoiled, remembering vividly what happened to someone on the receiving end of Raven’s wrath. He chose his next words very, very carefully.

“Raven please,” he said quietly, glancing toward his unresponsive teammate. The reminder of Demi’s condition seemed to calm the Huntress down if only a little, but her glare never wavered.

“Derrick, I swear if Gabi’s trying to take all the blame again so help me I’ll.”

“She’s already gone,” he sighed, fibbing only slightly as his eye caught a shimmer passing out the doorway.

Gabi didn’t turn off her semblance until she reached the locker rooms, cursing her own cowardice the whole way. Raven had only ever been nice to them. It didn’t matter they were a full year ahead, she and the rest of team STRQ had made fast friends with GLDD, and Gabi had always been able to go to Summer and Raven for advice.

Now here she was, ripping off and stowing away her uniform like a dirty secret. She quickly pulled on her combat gear, a black sleeveless T and knee length shorts and a belt beneath small blue shoulder guards and kneepads. She immediately kicked herself, taking off her shoulder armor so she could slip into the continental coat that made up most of her outfit, the dark blue and white fabric contrasting sharply against her mocha skin and shoulder length ash blonde hair. She’d torn the sleeves off to make way for the shoulder armor in her second year, the shallow scar of a beowolf’s claws still evident where it had ripped through her aura and coat. Tan boots that reached just below her knees went over her feet and calf’s, followed by a hip holster, the bottom wrapping around her thigh, the top clipping secure to her belt. A pair of vambraces decorated with her personal sigil, a white five pointed star fractured like the moon in the sky, completed her combat gear, but as she was strapping the bronze armor to her forearm she paused.

From the moment they were thrown together as a team, it hadn’t been lost on Gabi that her name was the only one that didn’t allude to a metal of some sort. So halfway into their second semester Leo had given her a set of custom forged bronze vambraces.

_“If we’re gonna be team GLDD, our fearless leader needs to at least look the part.”_

Now her partner was gone, reduced to Grimm food because she hadn’t had the courage to say no. Maybe she should just leave them. No armor was worth the protection it gave if it hurt to even look at it. But then she thought back to the new first years, soon to be seconds. There was more than a few among the still new teams with a tracking semblance, and she knew at least one girl who could find someone with only s scrap of clothing to start with.

With every intention to ditch them later Gabi secured the bronze braces to her arms, then checked the twin straps crossing over her chest to make sure they fit, before retrieving her weapons from the locker. Familiar weight balanced itself in her hands as the twin tomahawk axe blades, Wash and York, shone in the low light. Sliding Wash into its strap on her back she collapsed York to its sub-machine gun form and holstered it to her hip. Another minute or so to clear out her locker into the trash was all she needed, but before she closed the door for the last time, she noticed something, something she had seen so many times over the past four years of her life she hardly thought about it anymore.

She reached up and plucked the picture from the door’s metal frame. Gabi had seen it so many times now she didn’t even need her eyes. It was a picture of them, Team GLDD, taken not two hours after they had passed initiation and been named a team. As usual, Demi was in the middle with her arm out, holding her scroll to take the picture while Derrick squeezed herself and Leo into the shot. Leo hated it of course, and had threatened to destroy her if Demi ever let the image escape the confines of her scroll, but Gabi asked for a print out anyway. Just seeing what they had been like at the start, Leo glaring bloody murder at everyone, herself wanting to be anywhere else, and Derrick and Demi smiling happy go lucky enough for two more teams, reminded her of what she had to strive for as a leader. To make her team more than just hunters, more than just soldiers in the never ending war against the Grimm. In the end it hadn’t been a goal so much as a need, something she wanted so desperately it was almost unconscious. And now it was all dust in the wind.

Tucking the picture into her coat, Gabi closed her locker. Then she activated her semblance, and disappeared.

 

* * *

**Grey Trailer: Wings of Change**

* * *

 

  **Atlas: 12 years before the Battle of Beacon**

 

It was supposed to be simple, just another job. Get inside, find the target, get out with proof. Why couldn’t it have been that simple?

Getting in was the easy part. Eighteen guards patrolling the perimeter and rotating every thirty minutes in pairs. At any given time, there were at least four eyes on every angle off approach. But that was assuming an intruder planned on walking in.

She pulled the straps tight, securing the harness that held her weapons to her shoulders. A quick tug on their hilts confirmed both were firmly locked into their holsters as a voice called back from the cockpit.

“We’re over the drop site. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Open the hatch.” The bullheads side door swung open, the wind rushing in as it cascaded off the aircrafts twin rotor blades. She almost wished she could feel the wind rushing through her hair, but stealth was more important than thrills tonight. One last minute stretch confirmed her jumpsuit and harness wouldn’t restrict her movements, even if carrying her gear in all the pockets attached to it made for a more awkward stance than she was used to.

“Remember, once you’re done, just activate the homing beacon in your top pocket and I’ll pick you up.”

“Don’t wait up,” she said, tugging at her mask to make sure the dark grey plate was secured over her mouth before jumping into thin air.

Between the height and the Bullheads rotor wash, most people wouldn’t be able to tell up from down, let alone land on their feet. But her semblance let her do just that, a simple thought guiding the chopped wind and air away from her, then back, twisting and curling under her like an inverted tornado, cushioning her descent to the point of silence.

From there it was easy. With no guards on the roof, only security cameras slowly scanning the edges, it was only a matter of patience and elbow grease. She pried open on of the ducts connecting the mounted AC units to the mansions ventilation system, and a short crawl and drop later, she was inside.

She couldn’t help but take a moment to admire the house. Calling the furnishings rich would be like calling a two-ton block of silver shiny. The walls were all lined with marble or pure crystal, and all trimmed with gold. Paintings and portraits hung on nearly every wall, the faces within all bearing the same cold features. On the floor however was her greatest ally; Vacuan rugs nearly an inch thick.

She padded through the house, careful to avoid the occasional wandering servant and watch for the odd guard, despite the intel she had been provided. Not only was the houses main owner out on business, but two of his children were gone as well, One on her way to the coast, the other tucked away in her father’s penthouse inside the city.

It wasn’t hard to find the room. Not only was the faint glow of a nightlight shining from under the door, but there was even the ambient noise of a TV still playing. She made her approach, feet silent on the thick carpet, the door opening on quiet well-oiled hinges. It was different from the rest of the house, sparsely furnished and lacking the gold trim the overwhelmed the rest of the mansion. It had probably been storage at some point, evidenced by the total lack of windows.

The only light came from a night light in the back left corner, where it painted the room in a slowly turning carrousel of soft yellow snowflakes. The TV’s shifting light to her right fell on the four poster bed, the shifting colors of a cartoon painting the white sheets into a kaleidoscope of greens, purples and pinks. She quickly slipped inside, closing the door behind her, only for her next step to ring out with the soft click of plastic on plastic.

Ugh, of course the kid would be one of _those_. Instead of dolls and tiny hairbrushes or coloring books and crayons, the floor was littered with hundreds upon thousands of plastic building blocks. And since stealth was the name of the game tonight, her shoes were little more than thick socks.

Five large steps and three dozen muttered curses later she was at the bed, around which the floor was mercifully clear enough for her to work.

Her target was less than a foot away now, laying on her side and breathing softly, the thick fluffy comforter the only thing obscuring her face. She could make out curly white hair, cascading in ringlets down over her brow and the pillows around her, one laying across the bridge of her button nose. Soft cheek bones and large eyes completed the young girls face.

She reached to one of her pockets, slowly unclipping the flap and wrapping her fingers around the tool within. A quick glance to confirm the preparations she had made earlier, and all it needed was a twitch of a finger.

The camera clicked, a picture of the slumbering girl stored in its memory as She returned it to its pocket. Until now there had been only rumors, whispers of a third daughter but now there would be proof. Proof that her employer would pay through the nose for.

She glanced back, checking for a less painful way to get back to the door through the sea of toys. While the White Fang were her most reliable clients, their requests were the most dangerous. Make no mistake, her usual industrial espionage and sabotage more than paid the bills, but nothing got her blood pumping like the high stakes a job for the Fang came with.

Taurus had even put a down payment on this job, half her reward up front. The masked woman shook her head. So there was one more Schnee in the world, what difference did it really make?

She was nearly at the door again when a soft moan made her freeze. She turned her head and glanced back, watching and waiting for the girl to wake up, but instead she stretched, her legs flexing under the covers, pulling the sheets down away from her heart shaped face. Then the child shifted again, rolling over on her other side, and she had to pinch herself to believe what she saw. But it was what she heard next that made her freeze.

Footsteps. Two sets, and getting closer.

She hurried back across the room, no longer caring about the pain in her feet as she dove behind the child’s bed, flattening herself against the side.

This was her greatest thrill, being one decision, literal feet away from being caught. She steadied her breathing, not knowing how sound proofed the walls were, only for the answer to come filtering in from outside. 

“So this is it? The mystery girls room?”

“Yeap. This is where she stays.” The footsteps had ended, and the voices weren’t getting any further away. They had taken positions outside the door. Great. For a moment the two guards kept silent, likely with their backs to the door, in her mind holding some sort of plain factory dust rifle, but more than likely just a holstered sidearm.

“Hey Sim.”

“Yeah?”

“You ever wonder why we’re here?” She could hear the frustration in the other man’s huff.

“We talking specifically, or existentially?”

“What does exist-ant-hilly even mean? I mean why are we here, guarding a little girls bed room? Shouldn’t we be like, patrolling the perimeter or watching the cameras or something?” The conversation went from idiotic to interesting in an instant, and she quickly retrieved her scroll and set it to record.

“I don’t know. Mr. Schnee said he wanted the kid under surveillance at all times.”

“That’s another thing I don’t get. The boss has two girls already and he lets them out into the world just fine. Hell didn’t Winter leave for the academy earlier today?”

“I know what you’re thinking Griff, but honestly I have no idea. Like you said he’s already let one go off to huntress training, and he keeps Weiss with him almost everywhere he goes, but for some reason number three here’s special.”

_You mean an embarrassment._ She poked her head over the bed, looking between the door and the tiny girl still sleeping soundly less than a foot away. She looked so small in the middle of that queen size bed. She couldn’t be more than four or five. Now the lack of windows made perfect sense.

“Griff, Sims, come in.” She jumped slightly when a third voice spoke up. She hadn’t heard any footsteps, but the small beep that came before the guards answered told her it was from a radio.

“Yeah Sarge?”

“I need you two down in the mess. Those blue bastards set off some kinda chili bomb.”

“We’re a little busy here, or did you forget that you made sure we drew the short straws again tonight?” If it wouldn’t give her away she’d be laughing right now, not because they were funny, but at the reality of utter morons guarding the wealthiest family in the Kingdoms.

“Private, did I give you permission to bitch? Now get your ass down here, double time!”

“Sir yes sir. *sigh* Translation, Donut made a mess in the break room again. Come on, better help clean it up.”

“You sure Sims? Aren’t we supposed to, you know **not** leave?”

“Since when do you worry about goofing off?”

“When it involves more work.”

“Fair enough. But would you prefer clean up duty tonight, or a ball busting from Sarge’s shotgun in the morning?”

“…. Let’s go.” She breathed a sigh of relief as they moved away, down the hall until she couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore.

As she closed the door, and started back toward her point of entrance, her mind wandered. Should she have taken another picture? Would the child’s secret affect her status in the White Fang’s eyes, or would she remain a target regardless?

She reached the vent she had knocked loose coming in, slipping it back open and ready to climb when she stopped.

The eldest Schnee child was about to start her advanced combat training, and their father rarely let the middle child out of his sight. The new Schnee would become a tempting target. Tucked away in the family mansion she made the best option for kidnapping, but Taurus wouldn’t stop at a ransom once he found out _why_ the girl was hidden away. He would kill her, or worse, make a symbol out of her.

With freedom and another reward only inches away, she made her decision and headed back toward the girl’s room, praying all the while this would somehow be worth it in the end. 

Then she got caught.

 

The next morning, she was still in the house, still inside the same opulent walls, still resting her feet on the same plush sound sucking carpets. Right now however, looking across the room from where she sat chained to a very expensive hand carved chair, you could’ve heard a pebble drop. Or drop dead if the man glaring at her from behind his desk had any say in the matter. She couldn’t see his mouth beneath the thick mustache sprouting from his upper lip, but she doubted it had moved since she was dragged in. Thankfully the guards hadn’t messed with her clothes, letting her keep the guard protecting her mouth firmly in place. Not that hiding her identity made a difference now.

“Umbra Hancock I presume,” He said slowly, eyes narrowing a hair more as if her name was some great secret. Normally she’d be flattered at the idea, were it not for her situation.

“Mr. Schnee,” she returned flatly as the man pulled a folder from his desk, his gaze never once leaving her hazel eyes.

“You’re quite the celebrity you know. Atlas’ most famous mercenary.”

“Personally I prefer freelance saboteur.”

“Do you?” He asked mockingly, pulling out a thick stack of near identical papers. “33 counts of breaking and entering, 19 counts of fraud and forgery, and suspect in 27 cases of industrial espionage.”

“Girl’s gotta eat,” she said dismissively, thankful her mask was hiding her tongue as she rolled it back and forth behind her teeth in a nervous tell.

“And by the looks of it you eat very well,” he said, reclining in his chair, his features hardening back into the cold mask he was known for. “I know you saw her. Who were the pictures for?” Umbra kept silent, fully prepared to either lock her lips or start haggling a price if the opportunity arose. She almost did when the SDC president fell silent again, until.

“How much do your current … ventures pay Ms. Hancock?” Umbra quirked an eyebrow, a little surprised that the elder Schnee had managed to blindside her so easily.

“Enough for a few quiet comforts,” she answered simply, not ready to show her hand just yet.

“And what would you say if I offered to triple it?” Now Umbra felt utterly betrayed, both her eye brows shoot up in surprise before she could force herself behind a business mask.

“I’d say I’m listening.”


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of The Covenants defeat at Kamchatka, a new Supreme Commander moves to capitalize on his new power, but fate has other plans, ones that leave a UNSC crew stumbling into what they believe to be a golden oppurtunity.

* * *

 

 

_**Jul ‘Mdama is dead.** _

Like fire on a parched plain, or disease in an Unngoy den the news spread throughout the Covenant Remnant, from those who had seen their Supreme Commander fall to the troops at their side, until it reached the main communication channels, and finally made its way above the clouds.

The crew of _Whispering Piety_ could only listen in stunned silence, watching as the UNSC _Infinity_ tore into their comrades above Kamchatka. Jul had committed all of their ground forces to defending their outpost on the planet surface, but at the advice of his shipmasters kept their fleets greatest asset hidden behind the largest of Kamchatka’s three moons. At more than ten times their enemies size, _Whispering Piety_ could easily annihilate _Infinity_. But the supercarriers Shipmaster simply remained where he was, silently watching a simulation of his Supreme Commanders last combat orders. From the reassignment of the smallest Unngoy suicide squad to the deployment and swift retreat of the Kraken siege tower, he reviewed his deceased leader’s final commands and shook his head.

Madness. Utter madness and stupidity.

Ever since they had left Requiem to burn, the only act ‘Mdama had allowed them was to follow the directions and sate the every whim and curiosity of a withering human female. She sent them searching planet after planet, scouring long dead ruins, chasing shadows and legends. Though it could not have been said for certain before the Battle of Requiem, the shipmaster knew now that he was not alone in his doubts over the leadership of the so called Didact’s Hand.

Like many of the Remnants commanders, he had served with Jul before the Great Schism. He knew the Sangheili the Lord of Bekan Keep had once been, and he watched as the proud warrior descended from calculating shipmaster to desperate zealot.

“Harka.”

The shipmaster lifted his eyes from the holo display, turning to face the voice and face he knew it by. Harka ‘Kycham knew what was coming, and what he saw in the face of the Sangheili before him, a face so much like his own, only confirmed it.

“Which frequency brother?” He asked, his tone already clipped and flat in anticipation.

“Supreme Commander ‘Mdama’s personal command line.”

“Of course. Thank you Nal.” The younger Sangheili bowed and turned to leave, making it as far as the door motion sensor threshold. “No. We are brothers, not only by combat but by our father’s blood. If they wish to treat with one of us they must speak with both.” Nal blinked for a moment, before nodding a silent agreement.

Harka let a sigh escape his mandibles as he keyed the new frequency in to the ships computer. His too timid by half brother had always been quick to avoid confrontations with his superior officers. It was only through Harka’s maneuvering and the occasional show of Nal’s true battlefield prowess that he now wore the rank and armor of Commander. But despite his younger brother’s reluctance, Harka knew that they would need each other now more than ever.

The holo display shifted, simulated troops movements replaced with full body projections of three more Sangheili, their golden armor all bearing glyphs to match his own, those denoting the rank of Shipmaster.

“Brothers,” He greeted, bowing lightly as the other shipmasters did the same, only for the center projection to scowl the moment the polite gesture had ended.

“Shipmaster ‘Kycham. This dialogue is for warriors of our rank alone. The lesser of your father’s blood has no place in it.” Only the knowledge that the voices owner was out of his energy swords reach kept Harka from drawing his blade.

“He stays,” The shipmaster growled from the back of his throat. “Whether you choose to accept the presence of another warrior is your decision, but my brother and I have no secrets between us.” Harka felt his brother shift uncomfortably, but the older sibling held fast for the both of them, standing firm and silent until the left shipmasters projection broke the silence.

“Supreme Commander ‘Mdama has fallen at the hands of the human demons. His seat must not remain vacant. As the Shipmaster of our armada’s flagship, hierarchy dictates the burden of leadership falls to you Shipmaster ‘Kycham.”

“I accept the burden, and the honor.” Harka was glad for his zealot armor’s helmet hiding his mandibles, and the smirk growing over them. The center Shipmaster was already sulking in his armor, while those on either side of him wore the same stance of indifferent preparedness. Until the right most shipmaster turned away for a brief moment.

“The human vessel has broken orbit,” he said quickly. “They are leaving. What are your orders Supreme Commander ‘Kycham?”

“Recall our forces. Move your cruisers into position to affect their retrieval. Once it is done, we shall commence with Blind Temperance.” No matter how unhappy his fellows were with his new rank, Harka saw them all rise with anticipation at his command. Blind Temperance was created by Jul ‘Mdama as a fall back strategy to please his sub-commanders and quell the unrest then growing within the ranks. Now it would serve to cement the Covenants loyalty to their new leader.

“By your word,” the formerly haughty shipmaster said, a fist raised to his breastplate in a show of respect that Harka had never honestly expected, but returned nonetheless. As the shipmasters ended their transmissions, Harka turned to his brother, his chest swelling at the hope that had finally returned to the younger sangheili’s features.

“It is true then?” He asked, almost stunned as Harka clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“It is Nal,” he smiled. “We are going home.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Home._

The last memory he had of home was running. Running and stumbling through thick tangled trees. Scrambling over roots, pushing limbs and leaves out of the way as _they_ tried to es _ca_.

_They._

No. He was alone. The doctors said he had been alone whe _n it._

_A scream. A hand in his, pulling its owner behind him as they ran for their lives. Blood pumping, adrenaline flooding his body, all wasted on a scrawny twelve-year-old._

_He yelled at her. Don’t look back. He could hear it, snarling and growling, wood splintering and tearing as its claws brought it closer._

_She screamed again and so did he. They stopped. The ground had ended. A cliff. They were trapped._

_“Climb,” he told her. “We have to climb down.”_

_“I’m scared.”_

_“I’ll be right behind you.”_

_They reached for the nearest vines, thickest they could see. Just like Dad taught them. She was nearly over the edge, ready to repel to safety when._

_Claws. Teeth. A black terrible roar. He felt its claws tear into his side, lift him off the ground. Up and over the edge. She screamed his name. He just screamed. He fell, and it took her._

 

Miguel Torres bolted straight up, a sharp gasp throwing the air from his lungs. Wide dilated eyes searched his room, scanning the rest of the empty bunks. He leaned forward, groaning as he let his head fall into his hands, only for them to come away slick with a fresh cold sweat. He made a mental note to ask Dr. Willem to double check his meds.

It wasn’t embarrassing, it was downright pathetic. Fifteen years of therapy, military training, genetic augmentation and he still woke up terrified of a damn nightmare. He wiped the fresh perspiration from his face, and was reaching for his clock when the pale blue display shifted, and the comm beeped for attention. Tapping the built in panel beside his bunk, Miguel did his best to steady his voice.

“Torres.”

“Gwen here sir. Sorry to disturb you.” Miguel couldn’t help but smile at her voice.

“It’s fine, I was up anyway. What’s the situation?”

“The captain is asking for you,” was her curt yet enigmatic response. “Something about going on the hunt.”

“I’ll be right there,” He answered, about to close the channel but he hesitated at the thought of asking Gwen about his last dosage amount. Instead he keyed the comm off. The captain was asking for him, and that was not a conversation he needed to get dragged into right now.

A quick drop and He was pulling on a set of dark pants. Modesty-mods the others called them. Though his base-suit did technically conceal and protect everything anatomically important, most average soldiers didn’t take well to seeing a seven-foot guy in skin tight anything. But then the reactions weren’t that different than when he had his armor on.

Miguel clipped and tightened his belt, slipped on his boots and pulled the laces taught before reaching for the one item he wore that someone could argue was actually unnecessary: A tiny silver locket. Wrapping the worn steel chain around his wrist and into its usual place, Miguel had to slap himself when his hands brushed too close to the release, to opening up the all too familiar image.

Miguel squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the horrific memories like a shot of whiskey, letting the familiar wrenching knot settle into the pit of his stomach, where he could deal with it later. He definitely needed to ask the Doctor to check his meds. Two seconds later he was out the door and striding toward the ships bridge, only slowing his pace to acknowledge the salutes being thrown his way by the rest of the crew.

As part of the still growing Strident Class, _Preemptive Strike_ was newer than most UNSC vessels in more ways than one. Having been built after the Covenant War’s end and almost immediately tagged for deep space recon, no one could really say how effective she would be in a head to head fight with a Covenant cruiser, and her crew still needed breaking in along with the ships specialized systems. It wasn’t obvious, but if you looked close enough you could see the differences between _Preemptive Strike_ and her sisters. The engines had slightly higher output rates, and her hangar was just a few feet smaller to make room for a prototype long range sensor array a-la ONI.

As Torres made his way onto the bridge, he was greeted by the groggy where’s my damn coffee faces of the rest of _Preemptive Strikes_ main officers. He managed to catch the glare of Gavin Zokuvsky, the head of engineering throwing him a look that Miguel knew promised retribution for his fire-teams last mission.

In his defense, the pelican’s controls had been sticking all day, and the explosion provided the perfect distraction.

“Bridge crew assembled Captain,” the voice of the ships A.I. chimed as her avatar blinked into existence atop the bridges holo-table. Her transparent features were an image of classic European beauty, her dress denoting a medieval lady in waiting, almost as if she had pulled the design from an old storybook on earth.

“Thank you Guinevere,” The ship’s captain said, facing his crew with a turn that started at his shoulders and continued to the heels of his boots. Captain Thomas Starsgarb was known for having a sadistic sense of humor and a stubborn streak to match his bulldog like features. With his age starting to show and standing at only five foot three he wasn’t the most physically intimidating person Miguel had ever met, but the reputation that stretched behind him all the way to Operation Trebuchet was more than enough for the Spartan IV. Unfortunately, he was also an insatiable glory hound in the twilight of his career.

“So what’s this about Sir?” Gavin asked, leaning on a vacant chair whose owner had likely popped out to visit the head. Torres stood a little straighter at the smile that played over his captain’s face.

“Guinevere, display long range scan data, marked white whale.”

“Yes Captain,” the A.I. nodded, her avatar stepping to the side as a model of the surrounding stars and planets moved to fill the majority of the display’s projection.

“Ladies,” the Captain began, pacing around the bridge and circling his officers. “At roughly o-two hundred hours, _Preemptive Strike’s_ long rage sensor array picked up the scent of the juiciest, the fattest catch any of us has ever seen.”

The display shifted as a marker appeared over one object near the center of the largest asteroid field on the map, before zooming in to reveal the miniaturized but still imposing shape that had terrorized UNSC colony worlds for decades. A CSO-Class Supercarrier. Torres suppressed his own surprise into a subtle shuffle of his feet, while Gavin made no such effort.

“Son of a bitch,” he gasped, leaning forward from his previous perch to get a better look at the projection. The rest of the crew stood shocked, until Torres broke the silence.

“Do we know whose it is?” All eyes flashed to the Spartan, then back to their Captain, who as usual let their A.I. do the talking.

“There have been no transmissions from the Arbiters forces regarding the movements of a Supercarrier, and ONI records indicate that both _Burning Sword_ and _Righteous Resolve_ remain in orbit above Sanghelios, while _Shadow of Intent_ is currently in dry dock on Marathon. Which by my calculations leaves little doubt as to this vessels identity.”

“ _Whispering Piety_.” Torres wasn’t sure who had muttered the name under their breath, but he was glad someone had actually said it. Now his captain’s hunter grin made all kinds of sense.

Ever since the Battle of the Ark, ONI had been keeping a close eye on the remains of the old Covenant navy, and that included a watch list of the remaining Supercarriers. Months of pursuit and clashes with Remnant forces had withered the classes numbers down to four, with just one left in enemy hands.

“That’s right boys and girls,” The captain grinned. “We’ve found her at last.” It didn’t take seeing the crew’s nervous glances or the changes in their posture, all Torres needed to see was the look in his captain’s eyes to know something had come off the rails upstairs. But a Spartan wasn’t trained to question his commanding officer’s orders.

“We’re not equipped to take on something that size,” Captain Starsgarb said matter of factly in a rare show of self-admonishment. “The guns would shred us before we even got close to MAC range, but there’s no telling how long she’ll stay where she is or where she’ll go if she does leave. Lieutenant.” Torres snapped to attention. “If we can get you inside, can your team take it out?”

“Taurus can take care of any target you need us too, but with all due respect Sir that’s a big if.” Countless attempted missions during the war had taught the UNSC it was nearly impossible to board a Covenant ship undetected. The only known example of someone pulling it off had been when Spartan Blue Team boarded a cruiser in the wake of a nuclear detonation, and the resulting EMP that fried the enemy’s electronics. None of which was any kind of subtle.

“New scan data coming in Captain,” Guinevere chimed as the bridges attention shifted back the A.I.’s avatar. “I can’t 100% confirm it, but the ships ambient radiation discharge seems to indicate they are running on minimal power. Based on what we know about Covenant ship design and operating systems, it’s likely they are operating purely on life support.”

“Or,” Torres added flatly. “It could be life support and auto-defense systems.” The Spartan IV kept quiet beyond that, fighting down the very real urge to tell his commanding officer just how bad an idea this was, but the predators grin on Starsgarbs face told him it was already too late.

“And we could have another chance to catch the Remnants last supercarrier with her pants down again next Tuesday, but we can’t count on that. Brief and prep your fire team Lieutenant. Operation starts at O-six hundred. Guinevere, I want you to help Taurus come up with an infiltration strategy, and tag along if need be. Dismissed.” The officers all snapped their salutes, Torress included, but the Spartan couldn’t help the glare he cast at the captain as he walked off the bridge toward his private quarters. With a resigned sigh he turned back to the holo-display.

“Gwen? What’s the location of Taurus 2 through 4?”

 

* * *

 

“Damn it. Damn it all, to a THOUSAND HELLS!” The verbal tirade was punctuated with the snap-hiss on an energy sword igniting, followed swiftly by a familiar rhythm of soft thud and clangs.

Nal ‘Kycham watched quietly, listening as his older brother’s rage bled itself off in old practiced motions. He could tell by the noise made as he moved that Harka was using Velucyn style again, a cumbersome technique for something as swift as a sword, but his preferred style regardless. Another clang ran out as an armored dummy dropped to the polished floor of the training room, echoing off the empty walls as the rest of _Whispering Piety_ ’s crew steered clear of the Supreme Commanders wrath. 

Nal closed his eyes and sighed. Not four hours ago the ship had been a cauldron of anticipation and excitement. Harka had promised their battered forces a well-earned reprieve on their colony world of Oseidon before they made a triumphant return to Sanghelios itself to finally drive the Arbiter and his fellow heretics from their home.

Then two minutes after leaving Kamchatka _Whispering Piety_ dropped out of slip-space mid-flight. The only warning they had noticed was a blip on their navigational array indicating a small slip-space anomaly near their position. Nal barred his mandibles, cursing his own decision to ignore the Gods sign. He had wanted to help his brother, improve crew moral by having them on their way as soon as possible. Instead he’d let them fly straight into a trap of the god’s own making.

Before he could sink further into his own self reprimand, a snarling grunt and heavy foot falls from his left told Nal his blood brother was leaving the training hall. He fell into step beside the new Supreme Commander, their combined steps echoing in a way that almost made Nal believe he was within one of the Forerunners ruins rather than their own ship.

Nal had to keep reminding himself to check his pace, walking briskly to minimize the amount of time the lights around them stayed activated. At their chief engineers vehement advising, they had limited power use to life support systems as well as door controls, elevators and lights, though the later was put on motion sensor activation to conserve as much power as possible.

He fought the urge to click his mandibles, a nervous tick he had cursed since childhood but never managed to defeat, as his brother kept utterly silent while they made their way further into the ships darkened innards. Confining the crew to their quarters and stations wasn’t a drastic measure, but the deafening silence of empty corridors only made _Whispering Piety’s_ titanic size all the more apparent. A short ride in the dimly lit elevator brought them to the only compartment left with an overabundance of light and sound, but it was ruined by the heavy odor of methane flooding the room.

“Mekek,” Harka barked, raising his voice above the whine of the two massive glowing reactors that dominated the dome like space. “Report.” Nal heard a scurrying from the walkways above them, tiny leathered paws carrying their owner back into earshot of the Supreme Commander, until a tiny voice could be heard.

“Sorry Sir,” The unggoy squeaked, gasping for breath he could barely get with his rebreather missing as he looked down from above. “I’m doing my best, but I’m still trying to figure out the problem.” Nal could hear a snarl building in his brother throat and quickly glanced over his brother to make sure he didn’t have a ranged weapon available to vent his frustration with.

“How much longer until we are under way once more?”

“I don’t even know what’s wrong yet!” Mekek snapped, turning on his Supreme commander with a ferocity Nal had rarely seen an unggoy conjure. “Do you have any idea how hard it was just to keep the lights on?! You try juggling life support and bare minimum power levels with a possessed engine!” Nal braced for the sight of Mekek’s innards staining the walls, but instead of grabbing the nearest loose object and hurling it toward the unggoy, Harka simply growled louder and stomped toward the drives.

Nal breathed a quiet relief. Mekek was many things: Boisterous, ill tempered, and skilled in deciphering technology most Covenant races used daily, but had given up trying to understand for fear of committing heresy. Mekek knew his skill with their technology made him valuable to his commanders, too valuable to be reminded of his species place in the Covenant hierarchy.

“At the very least,” Harka snarled, glaring up at the two towering coiled columns that were the ships slips-space drives, the one to his right glowing significantly brighter than its twin. “Illuminate me as to what lies before us.”

“Fine,” Mekek huffed as he waddled over to another control panel and resumed his work. “The one on your left is drive one. According to these readings it’s still functioning normally. It’s drive two that’s the issue. Not only is it generating ten times more power than normal but it’s …. Wuh-oh.”

“For all the God’s love and wisdom, now what?!” For a moment Harka’s fury went unanswered, Mekek silently rushing down two levels of walkways and up to the control console nearest the second drive. He hurriedly tapped and navigated the display, trying the Supreme Commanders patience further until delivering the most unwelcome good news Nal would ever hear.

“Well, I found the problem,” he squeaked, pausing while the two Sangheili joined him at the console.

“And it is?” Harka asked as the unggoy’s hands became even more frantic. Then three things happened at once, which first Nal would never be sure of. Perhaps Harka finally lost his temper, grabbing the unggoy engineer by his methane tank and spinning him around, energy sword igniting in his hand. Or perhaps it was the red glyph that appeared on Mekek’s console, a warning, or perhaps what set Harka off?

Regardless, everything stopped when drive two’s already accelerated energy output skyrocketed, its glow blinding the three covenant nearby as energy lanced out, striking the walls like lightning in a storm. Consoles sparked and panels warped, melting where they were struck, until the sudden storm condensed, the strikes merging until all concentrated on a single point between the drives. Then as quickly as it began, it ended in a second blinding flash, followed by a blood curdling roar.


	3. Grimm Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infiltrating Whispering Piety, Spartan Fireteam Taurus quickly realizes that Covenant are the least of their problems.

* * *

 

 

As his hands finally collided with solid metal and the sweet brush of atmosphere passed over his armored body, Spartan Miguel Torres could only manage one coherent thought.

_"_ _Don't throw up, don't throw up, for the love of GOD don't throw up with your helmet on!"_

As a Spartan, Lieutenant Torres was trained to endure every physical strain and torture conceivable. Unfortunately, being shot out a garbage chute into the vacuum of space with nothing but your armor, a cobbled together jetpack, and an A.I. shouting in your ear to watch the asteroids hadn't made ONI's list of torments.

The smooth clank of the airlock closing behind them reminded the nauseated Spartans it was almost over, and the hiss of atmosphere being pumped into the airlock set off a countdown in Torres head, one that ended when Taurus 2 gave the signal they were all waiting for.

"Pressure's stable." Immediately all four Spartans unsealed their suits, depressurizing and allowing freshly scrubbed air to replace the stale atmosphere inside. Behind him Miguel could hear Taurus 4 heaving and gasping for breath through his usual string of snark.

"Hoo-boy. And I thought those Tribute ladies could take your breath away. Damn I haven't had a ride that wild since."

" _Can it Wade_ ," Torres snapped over their helmets communicators, hoisting his BR85N battle rifle up. "Shake it off Taurus, I need comms and weapons check." His teammates all retrieved their chosen side arms for the mission, weapons that reflected their wielder as much as the role they played on the four-man team, even with the same dull green color scheme across their armors.

Wade Millard, Taurus 4, checked the action on his M7S submachine gun before making sure all the gun's various gadgets and attachments were secured. At only six foot in armor he was probably the smallest Spartan ever, but his Recruit Armor had more than its fair share of hash marks carved into it from the night ops specialist's many assassinations and silent takedowns.

Across the airlock, Taurus 3 pumped the action of his M9 shotgun, chambering a round for good measure. As the teams designated dramatic entrance specialist, Alexis Mikhailov liked weapons that matched the general description of his warrior armor and thick Russian accent: blunt and to the point. Shouldering his shotgun, he checked the frag and incendiary grenades still attached to his thigh plate, making sure nothing had been damaged in their improvised flight over, before giving his rocket launcher a once over. No matter the mission, he never left the ship without it. Ever.

Directly in front of him, Torres watched as his second in command checked and rechecked the release mechanism for his M739 SAW's drum magazine. The Spartan Enforcer took a second to check his back up weapon, an M319 grenade launcher before going back to his SAW. Normally Emile Thompson preferred his sniper rifle and a good piece of cover to a direct firefight, but like any Spartan he adapted with the mission, and todays called for Taurus 2 to fill the role of suppressive fire specialist.

Torres checked his own weapon, making sure the action of his BR85N battle rifle was clear and smooth, and double checked his ammo pouches and the pair of M6 pistols holstered at his hips. A quick readjustment of his Soldier armors helmet and the Heads up display painted the inside of his visor, environment readings pulling up one after another, until finally his targeting assist and personal radar came online. He pinged his status green, followed quickly by the rest of his team.

Shifting so Mikhailov was beside him, Torres counted down on his fingers, Wades hand hovering over the airlock's door controls. The second Torres reached zero, the door opened, and Taurus 1 and 3 lunged outside, spinning 180 and scanning with their eyes and guns for hostiles, only to find a dark, empty corridor.

"Clear," Mikhailov grunted, keeping his shotgun trained just in case. The two Spartans moved forward, allowing the comrades to exit the air lock weapons raised and ready. Torres cursed his own armors lack of an infra-red mod.

"Wade, Thompson."

"Nada boss," the recruit said, scanning the hall with his smg. "Not a heat sig anywhere. Even the walls are cold." Thompson scoffed under his helmet.

"Just like the captain said then: minimal power. And here I thought this would be tricky."

"Quiet," Torres snapped, switching back to his helmet communicator. " _Keep your voices down. Helmet comms only_."

" _Got it_ ," Wade said, snapping a half assed salute that left his teammates shaking their heads.

_"_ _How in world did you ever get to be Spartan?"_ The recruit shrugged and said something about trade secret, leaving Mikhailov's question unanswered as Torres tapped his gauntlet's data pad attachment, bringing a rough map of the ship onto their HUD's.

" _Okay we all know the objective: destroy this ship and get out alive. Wade, Mik, you two make for the engine room. It's time to put those Covenant tech briefings to good use. We need those engines set to self-destruct._ "

" _Aye aye Left-foot-enant._ "

" _Do not worry Commander,_ " Mikahailov rumbled. " _I will keep Wade from shooting himself again._ "

" _That was one time ya damn Rusky!_ "

" _Save it for the mess. You two get the engines. Thompson and I will see what information we can pull from the ships computer._ " This time it was Thompson who laughed.

" _Admit it Boss, you just want to shoot some hinge heads._ " They knew their lieutenants silence meant yes.

_"_ _Sync clocks Taurus. Let's get this done."_ The four Spartans broke into their two teams, Heading off in opposite directions down the corridor. Night-vision painted their HUD's an eerie pale green that revealed the smallest details of the smooth panels lining the lifeless halls. Torres had to keep reminding himself he was on an actual mission, not simply running through another wargame infiltration scenario as he felt himself fall into a familiar routine.

Reach corner, take positions on opposite sides of door. Ready weapons, enter door, scan room, check any adjacent spaces and hiding places, move on to the next. Lather, rinse, repeat.

" _Guys?_ " Thompson called over the comms. " _You seeing what we're seeing_?" As usual, Wades sarcasm answered first.

" _If you mean the absolute total fucking lack of any potential pin cushions for my bullets, then yeah I think we're seeing exactly the same thing._ " Another routine, as usual Torres had to shut the team's joker up.

" _This ship is big enough to e-vac a colony_ ," he reminded them. " _Plenty of empty rooms and halls._ "

" _Dah_ ," Mikhailov rumbled. " _But big ship means big crew. Not to mention soldiers and supplies to transport._ "

" _So back to my original question then_ ," Thompson huffed as Taurus 1 and 2 tagged another room clear. " _Where the hell is everyone_?"

" _Uhh, guys? I think I might have an answer to that_." Miguel knew immediately he didn't like Wades tone shift into serious.

" _Taurus 4 report. What've ya got?_ "

" _I think it was a Jackal_."

" _You think_?"

" _Well there's not exactly enough left for a positive I-D._ "

" _Mik_?" He asked, knowing the Russian could be counted on for a more detailed explanation.

" _I am not sure Lieutenant. This is not plasma damage, no burns. This one seems to have been … mauled._ "

" _Mauled_?" Thompson asked, the barrel of his SAW dipping if only by a millimeter. " _What like a wild animal? Are you saying one of the Covies pets got loose?_ "

" _Nyet. I have seen animal attacks, and this is not that. I cannot explain, but this seems to have been driven. Murderous._ "

" _So it's either a wild animal, or a psycho-killer. Greeeeat_." Miguel sighed. Even in the worst circumstances Wade could always be counted on to treat it like a game.

" _You know Wade; you could probably retire on all the money I'd pay just to shut you up_."

" _Hah! And miss this shit? Boarding enemy ships the size of cities, killing hordes of alien fanatics_." Torres could only shake his head, knowing Wade would turn everything into a punch line in the end. Truthfully, it made everything just that much more bearable.

" _Besides. Who else outside the UNSC offers this kinda hazard pa, WHOAH!_ "

" _Contact!_ " Mikhailovs voice snapped, leaving his commander tensed, waiting to hear the report of his teammates weapons off Covenant energy shields, but instead.

" _De-mons_ ," The voice was weak, strained, and quickly followed by a clang and thud, its owner likely collapsing.

" _Taurus 3, Taurus 4, Report_."

" _An Elite Sir_ ," Mikhailov answered. " _Heavily injured_." There was the huff of labored breathing, the snarl of frustration, and yet another thudding fall as Wade weighed in.

" _He's messed up pretty bad. Cuts and lacerations all over_."

" _Is miracle he is still breathing_."

" _Wade, assessment_."

" _Too much blood for an assassination gone wrong_ ," the night-ops specialist said, his smg clicking into its holster on his thigh as he examined the Elite. " _Lacerations don't suggest a knife or energy sword. Probably something dull with a hell of a lot of force behind it. Wait_ …" The clash of metal on metal rang out, echoing through the ship. Both Spartans snapped their weapons up, scanning the room around them, eyes dancing between their gunsights and HUDs.

" _Wade_."

" _These marks on his harness look like they were made by … teeth._ " Another clang, further to their left. Torres and Thompson scanned again, keeping back to back. Torres could feel the tension in his seconds frame.

" _Care to elaborate?"_ the SAW wielder asked, the lack of light and an unknown enemy not helping him in the slightest.

" _Not sure if his energy shields broke before or after, but whatever it was crunched right through his armor._ "

" _Like cracker_." He almost asked his teammates to send images to his HUD, before something in front of them moved.

"Contact." Thompson snapped around, spinning on his feet and putting both Spartans weapons on the unidentified target. Torres tensed, finger moving to curl over his BR's trigger as his brain asked why a spotted Covenant hadn't drawn their weapon yet. Then the darkness in front of them growled, and stood up. It turned, huge legs and soft feet thumping on slick metal, a scraping noise shrieking through the hall as it's body swiveled to face then, and when its red eyes fell on them, Miguel did the one thing Spartans are specifically trained not to do. He froze.

For a fraction of a second everything stopped, and he could see the shrouded creature clear as day. Its body was built like a bear, but five times the size with limbs like old growth trees, and all tipped with huge bone white claws, the same color as the rock like growths crisscrossing its hide. The tips of long boney spikes peeked out over its shoulders, their ends scraping the ceiling as it breathed, snarling through a mouthful of teeth each the size of his combat knife. The shape was different, larger, bulkier, but the eyes were the same. Staring through his visor from inside that white and red bone mask, were the same eyes that had haunted him every night for as long as he could remember. For a split second, he was back in that forest, a scared boy, running for his life. Then the moment ended, and the boy became a Spartan.

He exhaled, his index finger curled, and the crack gun powder and lead sent three armor piercing rounds down range. That was all the signal Thompson needed to open up. The Spartan enforcers SAW roared to life, throwing lead into the monster, only for the beast to roar and drop onto all fours. Then it charged.

"Move!" Torres snapped himself around, sprinting down the corridor. Thompson followed the next moment, the same instant his SAW's drum ran dry and left his trigger clicking. Both Spartans sprinted down the hall, back the way they came. Torres ejected his BR's magazine, stored it, then replaced it with a fresh mag. He heard the clatter of the SAW's spent drum falling behind them.

"Plan boss?" the enforcer asked, his helmets vents helping his breath come in waves instead of pants.

"One more corner, then we kill it."

As soon as he said it the turn arrived, both Spartans skidded around the near 90-degree bend in the hall, sparks flying where armor met floor. They sprinted another 500 meters, then turned together. In the same motion they traded weapons, SAW for BR, leaving Thompson free to store the rifle on his back before pulling the grenade launcher from his hip and loading a palm size round. The monster would come sliding around the corner, disoriented and off balance. Miguel knew Thompson would get two shots, maybe three before the beast closed the distance.

They waited, the sound of rending metal and snarling breath coming closer with every second. Then it was there, tumbling end over end on the slick purple floors, and just like they were trained, the Spartans unleased hell.

Thompson popped a grenade, loading another before the first touched the ground, and firing again as the first exploded against the beast's black hide. It howled in agony, the roar mixing with the report of the SAW, as Torres did his best to keep the weapons legendary kick in check. The third grenade was sailing through the air when the monster found its feet, glaring at them through a cracked mask, before it let loose another roar and charge again. Miguel's mind was already moving.

"Dive back left. Helljumper slam!" The move was designed to take down a Brute Chieftain or a Hunter, but Miguel decided it would work just as well here.

The Spartans dived away, the monster sliding between them, spinning when its claws failed to find purchase. Thompson rolled backwards and left, tumbling end over end until his feet met the curved metal between floor and wall, but for him it was a springboard. Enhanced muscles and armor launched him up onto the monsters back between its spikes. One hand shot out to grab one of the thicker spines, the other for the grip of the BR still magnetized to his back.

The monster reared back, standing on two legs like the bear it resembled, turning and thrashing as Thompson pumped three round bursts into its skull and neck. Torres fired what remained of the SAWs ammo, running at the monsters now exposed mid-section and slamming his shoulder into the beast's stomach, still throwing rounds from his weapon up into its body. Thompson screamed, the monster had twisted its head enough to grab the Enforcers rifle and the arm that held it, both crunching down in a combined twisting squelch. Torres kept firing, switching out the empty SAW for one of his pistols, still pumping lead into the thrashing monster.

"That's it!" Thompson snarled, and Torres could hear the sickening rip of tearing muscles and tendons before the familiar pop of the grenade launcher chambering. "Open wide you son of a bitch!" One final roar, and the beasts head exploded with enough force to send both Spartans tumbling, one out of its disintegrated jaws, the other diving out from under the falling carcass.

He didn't stop to catch his breath, he couldn't. Miguel forced his feet back under his legs, running over to his teammates side as a pool formed around the other Spartan. His right arm was limp and mangled, twisted completely around and out of its socket. His Mjolnir armor was cracked and broken where it still clung to his shredded under suit, the specialized bullet proof polymer ripped like fabric to expose everything from blood to bone.

"Dammit Thompson." Torres reached to his pack, pulling a canister of bio foam and squirting it into any wounds he could find. Through it all the enforcer only laughed.

"Please. You were thinking the exact same thing. Ohh, lord." His other arm was still connected to its socket, but with the grenade shrapnel stuck inbetween his armor plates it wasn't much better.

"Just keep your mouth shut," he said, activating his helmet comms. " _Taurus 3, Taurus 4 do you copy_?" Static. " _Wade, Mik? Are you there_?" Still nothing. "Dammit." Not only was the rest of their team silent, but the bio foam had run out, and Thompson's arm was still dripping blood.

"Come on," he huffed, magnetizing the SAW to his back and kneeling beside his teammate. "On your feet Spartan."

"My legs work just fine you know." The moment Thompson was upright though he staggered, his blood leaving with a good portion of his balance.

"Right. _Wade, Mik, if you idiots can hear me, change of plans. Thompson and I are coming to you. We have unknown hostiles on board, repeat unknown hostiles. Do not engage_."

Another roar in the dark. Both Spartans stopped, listening for the sounds origin, which wall the echo was bouncing off of. Torres quietly handed Thompson one of his M6 pistols, trading it for the remainder of the SAW's drum magazines.

"Want to chance that it's behind us?" The distant sound of plasma fire answered, and both Spartans gripped their firearms tighter. "Or that the covvies will shoot it fir, what the hell?"

Miguel followed his seconds visor, back to the carcass they had just killed only to see the body dissolving into wisps of black smoke until there was nothing left. Nothing except the new monster turning the corner and looking right at them.

Miguel felt the beasts burning red eyes lock onto him, heard the snarl curl back its lips and bare its fangs. It wasn't as big as the last one, but it was still double either Spartan's size, and with his second's right arm injured beyond use, Torres saw only one realistic option.

"Run!" Both Spartans legged it down the hallway, the monster behind them roaring and chasing after them on all fours. They kept running, knowing from the last they could easily outpace the beast, until their escape literally turned to a dead end.

"Can we blast it open?" Thompson asked, his still working hand already reaching for a pair of frag grenades as his commander checked the door and walls for any controls. He knew enough about Covenant tech to know that green lights meant in use, and the lights surrounding the doors locking mechanism were glowing dull orange.

"Dammit," he cursed, turning back to face down the hall, only to find the bear like beast staring at them once again. With no other option the Spartans lifted their weapons, Torres the SAW, Thompson the M6 pistol he'd been given.

"Well boss," the enforcer laughed. "I pretty sure Wade would make a better joke than this, but I've heard of worse last stands for a Spartan." Torres didn't answer, he couldn't. Every moment he spent staring at those red eyes made it harder and harder to keep from slipping back into that horrible moment. He gripped the SAW tighter if only to hide how much he was shaking, then the monster roared and lunged. Miguel could hear the SAW's mechanism spinning up to speed, see Thompson's fingers curl around his pistols trigger, when a rush of air washed over their backs, and four digit hands grabbed them both by their necks. Both Spartans tumbled, landing on their backs as they were yanked through the door that closed swiftly behind them. The monster slammed into the sealed door, denting and bowing the metal out, but that was no longer a concern. The two dozen plasma pistols, needlers, storm rifles, and carbines being pointed at them were.

For a moment no one said anything. The Spartans remained where their rescuers had dropped them, backs on the floor with twelve Sangheili and a small group of grunts and Jackal's all aiming their weapons at the humans. Then one of the Sangheili, his golden zealot armor emblazoned with the glyphs of a Shipmaster, stomped toward them, energy sword drawn.

"Who are you?" Hearing english come out of an Elite's mouth wasn't strange, but it did take a minute for Torres to wrap his head around hearing his native tongue coming from an Alien.

"Spartan 217," he answered, never letting go of his SAW. "Lieutenant Torres of fireteam Taurus. Who are you?"

"The shipmaster of this vessel. What is your purpose here Spartan?" Now that threw him for a loop. Hearing an Elite speak English was one thing, but for one to address a Spartan as something other than demon was an actual surprise. When Torres didn't answer, he was given an even closer view of one of their captor's carbines.

"Answer the question human filth!"

"Here's an idea split-lip,' Thompson snapped. "How about you tell us what the hell is going on?" The shipmaster never moved.

"I will relinquish only as much information as you intend to Spartan. My situation, for your own."

"We were sent to investigate," Torres supplied, earning him the attention of almost every Covenant in the room. "We detected your ship on our long range sensors. My team was sent to check it out." He waited, watching the Elites and their Shipmasters reaction to see if they would buy his half lie, but he'd never been the best at reading non-human expressions, especially through those helmets' they wore.

"Your answer is … satisfactory human, for now. Lower your weapons." The other elites turned to their leader, babbling questions in sangheili until the bark of a second Elite, this one wearing the deep blue armor of a Commander, shouted over them.

"Silence! All of you! Those beasts could return at any moment. Until their infestation is dealt with we are all prisoners on this ship, human and covenant."

"Nal speaks the truth," the shipmaster boomed, looking down at the Spartans before kneeling and offering Torres a four-digit hand, one Miguel hesitated at but accepted none the less. As the Elite Commander helped Thompson to his feet, Torres took note of the unique dark grey skin he shared with the shipmaster. Relatives maybe?

"Retaking this ship is our first priority. Until this infestation is eradicated, our conflict can wait." The shipmaster locked eyes with the Spartan soldier, an unspoken warning that their truce would be a temporary one.

"What happened here?" Torres asked, still holding his weapon as the other elites finally lowered their weapons. The shipmaster waved for him to follow, guiding them over to a large holographic display on the far wall. A quick survey of the room confirmed they were on the bridge.

"We were pulled out of slip-space by an anomaly of some sort," the shipmaster explained. "Whatever it is, it has opened a portal and allowed those creatures to flood our ship."

"How many?"

"Thousands," the Commander, Nal, snarled. "The damn beasts have swarmed over nearly every deck."

"At first,' The shipmaster continued, "We believed it to be an attack by your forces, due to the creature's similarities to beasts found on your worlds." Thompson scoffed.

"Sorry hinge head, but I don't know of any bear that gets to be the size of that thing we saw, much less one that turns to smoke when it dies."

"Told you," One of the grunts behind them snarled, elbowing the jackal beside him as Torres and the shipmaster focused on the newly displayed holo-map of the ship.

"Where did it start?" He asked as the shipmaster pointed toward the back center of the ship.

"Here, the slip-space drives. That is where the portal that allowed them entrance first appeared. Since then, dozens have been reported all over the ship, including the vehicle bays."

"I need to contact my men. They were heading toward engineering when we,"

"I knew it!" Torres spun, ready to defend himself from the lunging Elite only for Nal to stand between them. "Investigation, a likely story! You came here to destroy us, admit it Demon! Why else would you send two of your ilk to our."

"ENOUGH!" The shipmaster roared, standing tall and towering over the other Elites who backed away. "We have all seen what these abominations are capable of, how they slaughtered our brothers with nary an effort! Even the demon bears the scars of their savagery!" Thompson gripping his M6 tighter, turning so his limp arm was less obvious. "Human, Covenant, these beasts care not! We are all prey to them!" The shipmaster turned back to Torres, yellow eyes burrowing into the Spartans armor through his helmets eye slits.

"Contact your fellows and guide them here. We shall have the doors ready when they."

"WAIT!" Human and Elite alike turned when a new, much squeakier voice stumbled in, its owner hobbling under the weight of his methane tank and several dozen bandages. The shipmaster only snarled.

"Not now Mekek."

"Yes now! This is our chance to stop those things!" Torres didn't know what was more bizarre, a grunt talking back to an Elite, or that he was listening to it.

"Explain."

"I figured it out," the grunt, Mekek said, shoving his way to the holo-display controls and pulling up a model of the engines slip-space drives. "When we brushed past the anomaly, it caused a resonance with our slip-space drives, dropping us out and creating a slip-space tunnel."

"A tunnel to where?" Torres asked, the Spartan leaning toward the display as Nal looked closer as well.

"And why have we not been pulled to wherever this tunnel links?"

"I don't know," the grunt answered honestly. "Maybe the other drive is acting like a sort of, anchor or something? My point is, if we can reset the drives they should disconnect from the anomaly and the portals should close."

"Define should?" the shipmaster rumbled, grabbing the unggoy by the tank and spinning him around face to face.

"Well, best case scenario is the portals close and we just have to do a little pest control. Worst case well … we make a blind jump and fry the drives."

"And you see no other options?" The grunt shook head and the shipmaster groaned. The Spartans could see the other Elites glancing at one another nervously and Torres couldn't blame them, the plan had too many risks for his taste, but aside from fighting a never ending horde it was their only option.

"You," Torres said, looking at the unggoy. "If I can get in touch with my men, can you talk them through your plan?"

"Can they follow orders and keep quiet?"

"One can," Thompson scoffed, leaning back against a control console and wincing as a fresh trickle of blood started from his arm. "Wade's gonna love this." Without warning the doors caved in, metal bending and warping but not breaking as the Elites drew their weapons at it. The shipmaster hefted his energy sword, moving to the front of his warriors.

"Contact your fellows Spartan, while we are still permitted reprieve." The door warped again, the body behind it roaring in anger.

" _Taurus 3, Taurus 4 this is Taurus 1, come in over_." He waited, listening through the static sizzling over the helmet's comm channels for any sign his teammates were receiving. He was about to call again when.

" _Hey boss_!" Wade's joking tone finally answered nervously over the sound of smg rounds firing. " _Uh, remember how you said not to engage those new tangos? Hehe, sorry._ "

" _Never mind that, what's your location_?" he was thankful to hear one of Mikhailov's rockets boom, the Russian Spartan cursing as he reloaded.

" _Two miles from extraction point, near main drive room. Derr' mo! Launcher is jammed_!"

" _Listen you two, the Covvies don't like these things any more than we do. Their shipmasters agreed to a truce until these things are taken care of_."

" _Swell_ ,' Wade cheered over the report of Mikahilov's shotgun. " _Die you mother fuckers! HahahaHAA! Bring your pretty face to my bullets!_ " The Spartan recruit's shouts of deranged glee were loud enough to draw the attention of a few Elites, though on the plus side Torres finally got to see what a confused Sangheili looked like.

" _Is nothing pretty about these monsters!_ " Mikhailov snarled, his shotgun's blast turning into a wet splash as Wade cursed.

" _Dude watch the spray! What the hell is this black stuff anyway_?!"

" _Focus you two. Those things are coming through slip-space portals all over the ship. The covvies head-tech has a plan, and you two are the only ones in position to pull it off right now so listen up_." Another roar echoed through the ships walls an into the bridge as Torres stepped away from the holo-display, SAW ready as below them Elites and Jackals took up positions at the bridges second lower floor entrance.

"Okay," Mekek swallowed, hoping the humans could hear him through the injured Spartans's helmet. "The first thing you need is to get to the slip-space drives, so keep going aft."

" _You do realize that's the direction most of these things are coming from_?" Wade snarked as his smg kept barking out bullets.

"That's why you need to hurry! The faster we reset the engines, the sooner these things stop showing up."

"Shipmaster!" Spartans and Elites alike turned back toward the upper level entrance, the door they had been pulled through bowing and warping before the human's eyes.

"Close the blast doors!" the shipmaster yelled, a nearby Elite already keying the command. Two more, much thicker panes of deep purple metal clamped shut over the bending doors, their mechanisms locking, but not drowning out the relentless roars.

"That won't hold for long,' Torres said, loading a fresh drum and cocking back the SAW's action before turning to the shipmaster. "Is there another way out of here?"

"None that would grant us a better position," the Sangheili snarled, holstering his sword in favor of a plasma repeater and turning to his soldiers. "Warriors take heed! This is not a battle of armies, but a fight of survival! There is no more honor in falling to these fell beasts than there is shame in fleeing from them! Do not waste your lives, but neither forget what you fight for this day! To once more feel the dusted wind of Lodam, to taste the sweet breeze of Yermo! Fight for your families, for the home we must return to! Fight for Sanghelios!" The war cry that went up nearly drowned out the roaring outside, and both Spartans traded a glance and remark over their comms.

" _For a split-lip, he sure knows his way around a speech_."

" _He's also right,_ " Torres added flatly. " _Mik, Wade, you heard him. This isn't the kind of fight you'll get a memorial for. Don't get reckless."_ Wade of course, laughed.

_"_ _Reckless? Me? Why would I ev,AGH! Son of a bitch! Wanna play tag do ya? C'mere ya Underworld wanna-be!"_ Miguel could only groan as Mekek looked up at him, confusion plan beneath his gas mask.

"I thought demons were supposed to be quiet?"

"Most of us are," Thompson admitted, putting down the M6 and maneuvering his still working hand until he'd loaded another grenade round into its launcher. Mekek looked like he could've given the Spartan an entire lecture on not using such a weapon in an enclosed space, but instead he turned back to the holo-display.

"Okay, once you're at the drive room, there will be a small console just inside the door, orange and green display."

" _One minute_!" Mik snarled, rocket launcher roaring over what sounded like a small horde of black and white creatures. " _These monsters may be small, but there are many, many of them_!"

" _That's Russian for nearly there_ ," Wade smiled, likely covered in enemy blood and loving it, before his tone shifted to he who sees the oncoming storm. " _Ah crap, don't tell me: We're heading for the room with all the monsters pouring out of it aren't we_?"

"Yeap," Mekek chirped, making The Spartans wonder if it was his mask or the gas unggoy breathed that made their speech sound so high pitched. "The panel is for the door control. Get inside and turn the orange side up, that'll lock the door behind you."

" _Are you crazy?! Boss are you hearing this, cause it sounds like a Covvie munchkin wants to lock us in a room with a bunch of blood thirsty freaks of nature_!"

"Do you want to fight TWO streams of those things?!" Mekek yelled, surprising all four Spartans, and startling quite a few Elites in earshot. "Seal the doors and you can clear the room, leave them open an they'll."

" _All right all right! Don't get your plasma pistol in a twist!_ " Torres allowed himself a smile beneath his helmet, having finally found someone capable of shutting Wade up.

" _Door is sealed_ ," Mikhailov rumbled, the sound of the locking mechanism fading in over the comms as a low electric hum threatened to drown out all other noise.

" _Check your fire Mik,_ " Miguel warned. _"Those are slip-space drive coils. One wide shot with the rocket we'll all need a new ride_."

" _Taurus 4 copies_ ," The Russian Spartan snapped, his shotgun again singing out over the chorus of roars and wet shattering impacts. " _We have located enemy entry point. It is … smaller than expected_."

" _Probably why we didn't see any of the big bear or wolf look'n ones when we, YOW! Why you lousy lil ankle bit'n!_ " There was another wet pop and Wade likely unloaded the rest of his clip into the offending monsters head. " _I am official tired of these things! Okay what's next?_ "

"On the third level, there's a console at the end of the main walkway," Mekek explained, maneuvering a holographic schematic of the room on the display. "That's the direct interface for the drive controls. The ship's still on minimum power so that's the only place you can interface with the drives from."

" _Got it_ ," Wade huffed, probably doing a pointless acrobatic in his commander's mind. " _Next_?" As Mekek talking the Spartan recruit through resetting the drives, Torres dropped down to the Bridge's lower level, where the Shipmaster and his Sangheili stood ready at the door. They could hear the metal groaning, wavering even as the beasts on the other side heaved against it. The locking mechanism's lights, the dial taking up most of the blast doors center, flickered and faded as the metal groaned with stress, before the tip of bone white claws appeared between the panels.

"Brother!" Miguel turned and stepped back as Nal heaved a Fuel Rod Cannon toward the shipmaster, the other Sangheili catching, and turning down onto one knees as he shouldered the weapon in one fluid motion, the other Elites wisely stepping back. The tortured metal slowly parted, the gap inching wider in time with the snarling grunts behind it. Miquel aimed his SAW, sighting his target as the beasts bone white muzzle appeared through the gap. He almost missed the subtle shift in the shipmasters aim, the tiny downward tilt of the fuel rods barrel before he squeezed the trigger. The unmistakable _wumpf_ echoed, bouncing off the floor with the sparking green round as it sailed up through the door gap, right into the beast's mouth, giving those inside milliseconds to watch its head evaporate in a cloud of black and green before the doors slammed shut.

"Nice shot." The shipmaster simply grunted, extracting the fuel-rods magazine, revealing only two slots still glowing.

"I want a count of all batteries," He shouted. "We cannot afford to waste a single shot."

"Lieutenant!" Torres snapped his head up, rushing back up, the Shipmaster and his brother close behind.

"What is it?" the Sangheili asked as Mekek furiously maneuvered a schematic of the ship.

"They must've clawed their way into the main power conduits. Without a solid link to the reserve batteries we can't restart the drives."

"Where is the malfunction?"

"Here," the unggoy said pointing to a bulkhead further down the ships spine. "Teth section, one of the seconadry conduits just aft of the Drives."

" _Wade, Mik_ ," Torres snapped. " _You get that_?"

" _Dah_ ," Mikhailov grunt, three shotgun rounds popping off in quick succession. " _But drive room is hot and getting warmer! If we abandon this room we might not get it back._ "

"I will go," Nal volunteered, hefting a carbine and already moving toward the far wall. "That part of the ship is familiar too me."

"No," the shipmaster snapped, grabbing the commander by his shoulder armor and turning him. "I cannot permit you to do this."

"And I cannot permit one of our brothers to face such odds," Nal snarled, before his tone dropped to a hush. "If I must die, at least let me cleanse my shame in battle." For a moment, Miguel swore he recognized the shipmaster's expression; the unasked question of why? It was the same look, warping from confusion, through pity to resignation that he had seen on his doctors faces for years.

"You truly are a fool," The older Sangheili sighed, placing a four fingered hand on his brother's shoulder. "If, you think I will permit you to face this alone. Spartan!" Torres looked to the shipmasters eyes, features that had born nothing but hate and death for humanity for decades, now void of anything save the steel of combat.

"Every life on this ship is precious to me," he said as Nal made his way to the upper level door, and began keying the commands to open it. "And though our kinds have been all but drowned in each other's blood, I must now put my faith in you, Spartan Torres."

"We'll hold the bridge," He nodded, standing tall as the doors below once again groaned with renewed assault and the shipmaster turned to his grunt engineer.

"Mekek, as soon as the connection is complete make your plan reality. Then engage the engines, move us away from the anomaly with all haste."

"Yes sir," he said as the two Sangheili walked toward the door.

"Seal the doors behind us. When we return, we shall rap upon them thrice."

"Good luck," Torres called as an Elite across the bridge keyed the doors open, only to close them again as the Sangheili brothers rushed through them. "And Godspeed."

 

* * *

 

The two Elites quickly made their way aft, sprinting down darkened corridors and hallways, paying no mind to the wide color spectrum of blood covering the floors. Nal couldn't help but curse his brother's stubbornness. The shipmaster's place was on the bridge leading his warriors, not guarding his little brother's back. But that was a private reprimand to be delivered after they were safe.

"Here," He said, stopping at the entrance to one of the ships many elevators. Igniting his energy sword, he sliced the edges of the wall panel bordering the door, revealing a small maintenance shaft. "This will make our journey all the quicker."

"I will not ask how you know of this place," Harka joked flatly, storing his plasma repeater on his back as he followed the younger Sangheili into the tall but narrow space. With only the light of Nal's energy sword guiding them the two made their way through the cramped space, Harka's digits twitching around the hilt of his own blade as his sense scanned the tunnel behind them. Finally, they reached a wall where the shaft had obviously been cleared away, the panel bare and easily accessible. A few more swipes of Nal's energy sword returned them to the darkened main halls of _Whispering Piety_ , and the sound of roaring intruders to their ears.

"The horde will soon have our scent,' Harka noted, grabbing his plasma repeater and engaging his comm unit. " _Mekek_?"

" _Just a little further_ ," The unggoy said, the brothers already running down the hall once more, eyes scanning and searching for evidence of the problem. " _It should be right … there_!" Harka stopped, dropping to a crouch as his armored feet skidded over the floor. There on the left wall was the problem; three long claw marks gouged into the wall, down to the circuitry beneath.

" _We have located the malfunction_ ," he said, returning his weapon to storage before prying the damaged panel off. " _Stand by_." Nal kept his weapon trained, eyes searching the darkness around them for signs of an enemy as Harka examined the damage.

Contrary to human intelligence Elites did have some understanding of how their own technology worked, at least enough to make small repairs when needed. A quick glance revealed the damage was mainly superficial, the beasts claws merely forcing a pair of energy conduits no thicker than plasma pistol grips to separate where their ends met. While he wouldn't put it past a rabid beast to simply lash out, the claw marks were the only damage he could see, and Harka knew by the smell there was no blood in the area. He moved to realign the conduits with one hand, the other dropping to the hilt of his energy sword. The beast that made these marks was either incredibly stupid, or a very clever hunter.

" _This is Shipmaster 'Kycham to the Bridge_ ," he said slowly and carefully. " _Prepare to initiate Slip-space drive restart_." A swift push of his arm and the conduits realigned, sending glowing energy flowing back through the circuits, illuminating the faces of both Elites.

 

* * *

 

"Yes!" Mekek cheered. "Power restored! Hit the glyph of Faithful revision."

" _The what_?!" Wade guwaffed through the spartan's helmet comms.

"THE RED ONE YOU IDIOT!" Immediately the ship fell into complete darkness, only for the power to return a moment later, bathing the bridge in light from a dozen now active consoles.

"Slip-space drive restart complete. Power restored!"

"You heard him!" Torres shouted, "All ahead full!" The ship lurched only just as _Whispering Piety_ 's engines activated, sending the ship surging forward. Between the sudden lurch and the growing roar just outside, Mekek almost didn't notice the warning glyph blink into existence on the display.

 

* * *

 

 

As the ships drives rebooted, the halls of _Whispering Piety_ were bathed in white-purple light, illuminating blood stained and corpse strewn corridors all over the ship. The renewed illumination shone off Harka and Nal's armor, the plate shining even through all the scuffs and scratches earned from their short cut, as well as the black lupine form looming over them.

"Brother!" But Harka was already moving, energy sword flashing into existence seconds before its tip sliced through the beast's flesh. It was easily twice either Elites size, digitigrade legs, long powerful arms, and a hunched neck and back supporting a long head full of jagged teeth. The monster howled in pain, black fur sizzling, but it did not retreat. Nal lashed out with his carbine, green plasma bolts peppering the wolf like beast's chest and skull, earning the younger elite the monster's full attention.

Before it could lunge Harka was on it again, slicing down with his sword only for the beast to swing a massive paw out at him. The shipmaster dove, rolling forward under the swing before planting his feet again, and thrusting his sword up into the beasts left leg. Another howl of agony, the monster finally relenting as it limped on a newly bloodied leg. Harka heard the hiss of the carbine's battery being replaced and tensed, ready to lunge and eviscerate the creature to protect his brother, but when the monster turned on him instead, Harka realized too late that Nal had the same idea.

The beast turned, leaping at him with outstretched claws, but before Harka could angle his blade to pierce its skull on arrival, Nal had pushed him from its path, leaving the younger Elite to be bowled over in a mess of armor and bloodied fur.

"NO!" Harka screamed, his vision turning red as he charged the monster, jumping onto its back and plunging his sword into its spine as it racked Nal with its claws. But what should have killed even a Hunter only enraged it, the monster throwing itself back like a maddened bull. Harka had no choice but to hold on, his energy sword twisting in his vice like grip and the beast's rabid motions, until the combination of its pierced back and wounded leg finally caused it to stumble. Right into the exposed power conduit.

Between the renewed whine of the slip-space drives and the remaining monsters locked in with them, Wade and Mikhailov had no words to describe the sudden short circuit that flashed over the drive room, leaving Mekek completely unprepared to find not one, but both drives surging into a new frequency and resonance.

 

* * *

 

From 70 kilometers away, _Whispering Piety_ was only a smudge of purple against the vast star spotted black. But even then no one on Preemptive Strike's bridge missed the sight of the Supercarriers engines suddenly flaring to life.

"Captain she's moving!" Starsgarb cursed, jumping up from his command chair and storming toward the window, the command to fire the MAC gun already on his lips when.

"Slip-space rupture!" The space in front of Whispering Piety seemed to rip, tearing open until the familiar blue bloom of slip-space was gaping before it, leaving Preemptive Strikes captain and crew unable to do anything but watch as the Supercarrier and her crew disappeared through it.

"Ensign," The Captain snarled, already stomping toward the navigational station. "Tell me you were able to chart its course."

"I, I," the young ensign stuttered, hands still flying across his console. "I'm sorry sir it must've been a blind jump. The ships sensors are fast but, all I was able to get was an origin point. I'm sorry sir but, she's gone." It took a moment for his words to settle over the crew, the silence holding like a shocked breath as the Captain returned to his chair. Not only had his last chance at naval glory vanished without a trace, but it had taken four brave Spartans with it.


	4. How's My Driving?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whispering Piety and her crew make their dramatic entrance, leaving both ship and planet realing, and a handful of unlikely allies in a ship-load of trouble.

* * *

 

 

He could be doing something else, anything else. Carving on a new crystal from the mines, examining the relics those plaza merchants tried to sell like trinkets, or just walking and talking with a stranger. Maybe even a girl. He wasn’t that unattractive was he? A little under six foot so nothing unique vertically. Nothing to note width wise if either he was honest, but then his scrawny bean pole of a body did let him hide and reach places most other couldn’t. His mother always told him he had a handsome face, even after a flirt with the wrong girl broke his nose. Maybe if he pulled his hair back? That seemed to be the trend on the mainland now, short and simple. But he liked his long locks. Sure they stayed filthy most of the time, but he couldn’t imagine not feeling the weight and brush of those oily tangled strings on his neck and the tops of his shoulders. Yeah, he could probably get a girl if he wanted to, maybe even keep her for more than one night if he dug his manners out of the closet.

Instead, he was fishing. All alone, in the middle of the big blue nowhere.

Simon Kyanos knew exactly why he was in the middle of nowhere hauling in net after net of slippery squirming fish. As much as he preferred studying ruins and carving stone, neither brought in much money. The shop and stand his parents had left him near the harbor however, was a different story.

He hauled another net up into his boat, pouring what he could into the crates and baskets he’d brought, before settling down to pulled the rest from the net by hand. A quick glance at the sky as he retrieved a knife from his boot confirmed he would maybe have the chance for one more cast before he had to head in. He needed to make it count too, since the red sunrise heralded a storm later in the day, most likely coming from the west on the trade winds. Right now though the rising sun was about to make his already tedious job miserable, not to mention what would happen when it’s red rays hit the fish.

“Sometimes,’ he sighed, holding a fish up so its gasping face was looking at him. “Sometimes I think I really should have jumped that transport to the mainland. Sure I’d be poor and homeless, but at least there’d be something to do right?” He tossed the carcass over his shoulder, moving on to another caught in the net. “Grimm to kill, people to save. But no, I’m still here. Still stuck in boring, rotting, middle of nowhere Menagerie.”

**_BOOM!_ **

Simon only had a few tense moments to be baffled by the massive noise before it’s shockwave slammed into his back, rolling him down head first into his boat and catch. He felt the boat roll and buck, water trickling over the side as it came within a hairs breadth of capsizing, only for its tall single mast to pull it back over.

“Was it something I said?” he asked, blinking his eyes as he tried to regain his sea legs, whipping his face if only to get some of the stinging scales and saltwater out of his spinning senses. He could just make out the shine of the sun gleaming on his catch when he saw another shine moving up the other side of the pile, just before the roar overhead overpowered that of the wind and surf.

He looked up, and his jaw came loose. It was massive, huge, easily bigger than anything Simon had ever seen. It streaked overhead, smooth outer shell burning green as it careened through the air, coming apart and leaving fragments of itself falling and burning through the air behind it. He watched it fly past, too busy watching to worry about the shards it shed, as a sickening realization hit his stomach. Whatever it was, it was headed for Menagerie’s southern coast.

 

* * *

 

It had taken all of five seconds for Torres’ spinning mind to translate the sudden panic around him into what had happened. A short circuit or power surge, Mekek’s cursing wasn’t clear, had caused the ship to make a blind jump, one that dumped them out directly into the gravity of an unknown planet.

All around him Elites were scrambling for handholds, as the ones who had kept their footing shouted the remaining Grunts and Jackals to guard the doors, even after the roars outside had been completely drowned by the alarms blaring overhead. The remaining Elites were being furiously commanded by what The Spartan assumed was the highest ranking officer present even as Mekek kept piling on more bad news.

“Stabilizers offline! Shields offline! Ship-wide communications offline! Artificial Gravity failing! Hull integrity 33 percent!” 

“Commander!” Another Sangheili yelled, his hands gripping a flickering console for all they were worth. “We are caught in the planets gravity and our orbit is faltering! Impact calculated in 13.82 minutes!”

“Full reverse!” The ranked Elite bellowed, his gold warrior armor gleaming scarlet in the blaring alarms lights. “Reroute all power to engines and vertical thrusters! We must level our descent!” Torres knew from mission briefings that Covenant ship bridges were buried deep inside their hulls, but he didn’t need to see outside to recognize the next round of violent vibrations that shook _Whispering Piety_ ’s hull.

“We’re entering the atmosphere!”

 

* * *

 

 

In the five seconds or so it took _Whispering Piety_ to enter and exit slip-space, Harka made a promise. Six hours ago they had been destined for Sanghelios, on the path to final victory. Now his crew was on the brink of slaughter, his ship coming apart around him, and worst of all, his brother was lying five feet away in a bloodied heap.

He would kill them all. Every single one of the creatures infesting his ship. The monstrous beasts that had taken his greatest moment thus far and scattered it like dust. He would kill them all, even if it meant ending them with his bare hands. Starting with the beast trying to take his brother’s life.

In the confusion and clamor of the sudden jump, Harka had been thrown from the wolf’s back, leaving the Elite shipmaster facing the monster across seven feet of quaking hallway. He dared not glance past it, just behind its legs to where Nal still lay unconscious. The monster was fully focused on him, the one who had dared to injure it. Its black fur was still burning in places from its collision with the power conduit, and the bone mask covering its face had shattered away, revealing not a face, but a black void that swallowed all light that met it, with only the barest hint of a muzzle and snout. But there was no mistaking the fangs the beast was baring at him, and Harka could almost feel the hatred, the anger dripping from its mangled body like sweat. It wanted his blood, it wanted revenge. Harka had no intention of denying it.

“Well then?!” He roared, fists clenched and mandibles bared. “What are you waiting for?! FACE ME DEMON!”

“Not today.” Harka spun, rounding on the new voice only to feel a five-digit hand clamp around his throat and hoist him off the ground.

“Such courage, such devotion,” the female voice purred, obscured by her hold on Harka’s neck. “ **Such anger.** ” He clawed at the hand, reaching up and grasping at it, only to feel cracked skin as cold as death. She seemed to pause as _Whispering Piety_ shuddered violently, the forces buffeting the ship tossing Nal’s limp form like stones in a rockslide.

“So the frame of day crumbles, ashes before the burning night.” Harka felt his muscles tense, a small, barely noticeable stabbing pain in his neck before a fog fell over his senses. “And after so long in battle, so many wars fought. Your valiant sacrifices, have what wrought?”

His limbs became lead, and he could feel consciousness slipping through his grasp. In a final bid to escape he reached out, only to find his fingertips barely brush he face of his attacker, and her cracked skin. Then his vision faded completely, and his body went limp.

“This will not be your final rest o brave knight, but for now it will offer some respite.” She dropped her new captive, the muscled alien falling back into the claws of his former prey as the other form began to writhe on the floor.

Fighting through the familiar agony of a thorough beating, Nal forced his eyes to open and his limbs to move, snaking his hands under his torso and pushing up. He lifted himself up enough to turn his head, his arms shaking as his vision threatened to blur again, but not before he caught a flash of gold hanging against a wall of bleeding black.

“Har-ka,” he groaned, trying with all his might to will his legs into action, but they were noodles beneath him. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear his vision. Was that another figure beside the monster? It was no more than a smear to him, pale skin peeking from dark robes, and when Nal next glanced up with open eyes, it was gone. They were gone.

“No.” he heaved, gripping the dented panels on the wall and hauling himself up until his legs hand no choice but to stand. “Harka!” He searched furiously, eyes flying over the rumbling hall, trying to focus in the flickering light, but all that was left were the scars of battle on the metal around him, and the bone jarring quake that shuddered up the ships body like a seizure.

“Brother!”

 

* * *

 

“We just lost the engines!” Mekek screamed, his tiny hands holding onto his console for dear life as the bridge’s commander bellowed.

“Then all power to maneuvering thrusters!”

“Commander!” Another elite shouted over the ships thundering. “Landmass detected! Bearing 0.021 to port!”

“Two minutes to landfall!” Torres didn’t know anything about Covenant ship design, barely anyone in the UNSC outside of ONI did, but right now he had only one choice.

“One minute!”

“All hands, brace for impact!”

 

* * *

 

Deep inside Menageries ancient forests, a lone predator was stalking a dangerous, lethal prey.

She knelt down, shifting her grip so her axes shaft supported her weight, her other hand ghosting over the churned earth before her. Still warm. The trail was alarmingly fresh, an hour old at most. She glanced left and right, eyes darting to and fro beneath her hood. Broken branches and trampled brush lay all around. This wasn’t just a straggler pair or a lone alpha in the making, this was a pack. The largest Menagerie had seen in decades if her information was right.

She resumed her trek, keeping her stance low and her pace slow through the torn underbrush. For once she was thankful she’d never gotten around to adding any more armor to her combat gear. But even if the small gusts ticking across her exposed upper arms told her she was safely downwind of the pack, she kept her steps quiet. Beowolves were known for their sense of smell, but their hearing was just as sensitive. One wrong step, one snapped twig and the pack would stop, listen, sniff, and more than likely scatter until dark. She couldn’t risk that, not when she was so close after two days of tracking.

She fell back on her training, focusing her body on the motions needed to maintain crucial silence, until two somethings made her stop. For the past mile or so the pack had followed a trail carved out by farmers and merchants, a clear sign of just how few the Grimm had been in Menagerie until recently. In front of her the path forked, one branch heading north into the mountains and river valleys, the other pointing south toward the coast, where the packs trail lead.

Gabi frowned. There were no villages to the south. The nearest settlements were a day’s run west, and another half day north. Was there a new settlement they hadn’t told her about? Another mining camp on the cliffs? One thing for sure, if the pack didn’t spook she was going to find out.

Then she heard it. A colossal, vicious noise unlike anything Gabi had ever known. First an explosion, a clap like thunder the huntress recognized as a sonic boom, followed by a screaming roar. She stopped, waiting as the sound grew closer, howling and vibrating through the air to the point it felt as if her very bones were shaking. But as suddenly as it appeared it was gone, replaced with the thunder of breaking surf, only amplified ten thousand times.

Then, the earth shook.

 

* * *

 

No one saw, but even an ocean away the impact was felt from the ground right into the people’s bones. _Whispering Piety_ did not hold to its name. It came screaming toward the earth, the wind howling, her frame groaning under the torture of crushing G-forces. The ships thrusters had nearly leveled the supercarrier, but only its hooked bow truly saved the massive ship.

It slammed into the water, throwing up a spray tall and wide enough to drown an island, one matched only by that kicked up when its rare also touched down. Had the ship been level it may have skipped like a river stone. Instead it careened through the surf, throwing up entire tsunamis of sea water until finally, with a sickening crunch the ships prow met land at a row of towering cliffs. Her forward hooked nose, the entire prow of _Whispering Piety_ , bent and twisted on impact, its center beam cracking like dry wood. The ancient rock acted like rebounds in a pinball machine, forcing the ship to scrape and drag along the cliffs. Not a second later _Whispering Piety_ ’s side hit, the sloped wing like sections flattening and sheering away like butter against sea battered coast. It was only after a torturous eternity of scraping alongside the rock that the ship ground to a halt, her twisted prow coming to rest in the crook of the cliffs and a massive seastack, the gap between the titanic rock formations becoming a final catcher’s mitt for the battered supercarrier.

 

* * *

 

Torres flexed, a whole body motioned all Spartans trained in to disable their suits most important survival function. But no training could prevent the Spartan from falling into an undignified heap as his armor lock disengaged, leaving him to tumbled down to the Bridge’s lower level and roll across the now tilted floor.

“Status report,” The Elite Commander groaned, slowly righting himself as his fellows did the same. Mekek had fortunately only been thrown a few feet from his console, and whether by his species own durability or sheer panic he quickly scrambled back to his station.

“Main power offline, reserve power offline. All systems are down.”

“No power?” Thompson coughed, hauling himself up with his good arm. “Then where’s the light from?” The Spartan soldier looked over to the illumination in question, a glaring streak of white in the midst of Whispering Piety’s sparking battered bridge. Torres swallowed hard, already computing the implications as his head swiveled up and around, following the shaft of light to where it streamed in. A few steps to the right was all it took, and the Spartan could see cloudy skies.

“Impact must’ve broken her keel,” He half whispered as the Elite Commander addressed any of his subordinates still conscious.

“Take a squad and get outside. We must survey the damage to the hull.”

“But what of the beasts?” At that everyone stopped, the bridge falling silent save for the low groaning of the ship’s hull, and the sparking of its damaged internals. After thirteen agonizing seconds of silence, Torres activated his helmet Comm.

“Taurus 3, Taurus 4. Come in, over.” All he heard was static, then a hacking cough.

“ _Tell the pilot he needs his license pulled_.” Torres felt his tightened shoulders loosen if only slightly at the sound of Wade’s snark, but that still left one unaccounted for.

“ _Taurus 4, respond. Mik_?”

“ _Mik_?” Wade called. “ _Miky? Come on ya big Russian bozo now’s not the time for a round of hide the vod…_ ”

“ _Wade_?” For a moment Taurus’ joker was completely silent, the scuffling of armored boots the only sounds legible through the Comms, until.

“ _Mik’s dead. His neck’s broken_.” Both Spartans felt their limbs turn to lead if only for a moment as their brains processed their teammates words. Of course they trained you for it, but nothing could really prepare them. “ _He was picking off the faster ones from up high. Looks like he fell when the ship … Armor lock didn’t engage in time_.”  

CLANG!

Covenant and Spartan alike all flinched, heads swinging around as hands flew to their weapons at the sound of rending metal. Instead of a monster though they saw Thompson, the Spartan Enforcer pulling his already battered left hand from where he had buried it up to his thumb in the nearest console. An Elite five feet away moved toward him, a growl already in his mandibles only to find the commanders arm across his path.

“Still your tongue,” he snarled, turning to the rest of his crew. “A warrior has fallen in our defense! You will grant him all the honors and respect he has earned!” Torres watched carefully as a round of snarling nods answered the commander’s declaration. He knew the order was meant as a gesture of respect, but for the Spartans it only served to deepen the pit forming in their guts as the Elite turned to them. “Go to your brother, and see him off on his journey.”

It took the better part of his training just to nod. Their comrade and friend was dead, and they were now more than likely stranded on an alien planet with a super-ship full of Covenant soldiers.

“ _Taurus 3 is in bound_ ,” Wade’s voice crackled numbly. “ _No sign of any hostiles_.”

“ _Negative_ ,” Torres snapped hollowly. “ _We’re coming to you_.”  

“ _Roger that_.”

“Me too,” Mekek said walking up to the Spartans, his right hand now gripping a Needler, while he addressed his current commander. “The consoles are dead, and we’ve probably severed half the plasma conduits in the ship. I’ll need to assess the drives before we even get near restoring power.”

“Be swift then,” The Elite nodded, glancing at the Spartans with a final respect before heading to the Bridge’s lower level. With the power out opening the blast doors took slightly more muscle than Torres was expecting, but once he’d wrenched the massive panels open they began their walk.

With stealth no longer their objective, both Spartans activated their helmet lights, keeping tight grips on their weapons as they made their way down the halls. Even Mekek kept his needler ready, the weapon staying level and steady in his grasp. As they advanced Torres couldn’t help but take in the dizzying swath of blood coating the walls, from faintly glowing unngoy blue to thick paste like Kig-yar purple, and the slick dark blue of Elite blood. If there was one consolation the Spartans could find, it was that between the black beasts and the crash, most of _Whispering Piety_ ’s crew was likely dead.

They soon reached the drive room and a short heave of the doors later, Fireteam Taurus stood reunited. Wade was, for the first time in either of his teammates memory, totally silent, barely even seeming to breath as he placed his fallen comrade’s hands over one another and closed his eyes.

“He didn’t deserve that,” Thompson said numbly as Torres looked to the fallen Spartan. “If anyone should’ve gone out fighting it was Mik. Instead he goes because of murphy’s law.”

“We don’t decide when Emile,” Torres sighed, walking over and kneeling beside Mikhailov’s body. “Sometimes not even the how. All we can do, is live well while we can.” The other Spartans visor met his own, before a silent nod, one that became a wince. It only took Torres a moment to follow the involuntary motion to his seconds arm, and the fresh trickle of blood now flowing from the wounds.

“Just a scratch Boss,” Thompson lied, only for another lance of pain to travel up his useless arm.

“Scratch or not you need a medic,” He said, glancing back at the Covenant engineer as the unggoy waddled toward a dark console. “And we need a plan.”

“Rrruuhhh.” Both Spartans spanned to attention, raising their weapons toward the sound only for Wade to jump between them.

“No no, it’s all right! He’s not hostile!” Torres kept his SAW trained, watching as the dim glow of his Helmet lights bounced off the blood stained armor of a Sangheili commander, before he recognized the Elites dark skin and yellow eyes.

“Nal!” Mekek shouted, running as fast as his stumpy legs could over to the Elite as he struggled to hold himself upright. “What happened? Where’s the Shipmaster?”

“Taken,” The Elite snarled, though through the memory or pain Torres wasn’t sure. “We were ambushed by one of the beasts as soon as the power was restored. It surprised me,” he growled, with no small amount of shame in his voice, enough to finally make the Spartans lower their weapons. “When I awoke, Harka was being carried away in the damn creature’s claws. One moment he was there and the next, rrrrgh!” He clutched his side, only to groan louder, likely from broken ribs.

“Great,” Mekek groaned, before turning to the Spartans. “So, who brought the escape plan?”

“Excuse you?” Wade asked, looking at the unggoy as if he’d grown a second head out of his methane tank.

“He’s right,” Thompson said looking at his teammates. “Unknown planet or not we need to get out of here. Fast.”

“Well no shit!” Wade snapped, whirling back on Mekek “But why the hell do you wanna run? I thought you were important to these split-lips?”

“Only as long as I keep the ship running,” He sighed, looking at the now cold drive cores. “And if that new skylight on the bridge is any indication, _Whispering Piety_ broke her back on impact. She’ll never fly again.”

“And your usefulness just ran out,” Torres finished, then turned to the Sangheili. “What about you?”

“What do you think?” He snarled, mandibles clenching in pain. “I doubt my commanders will believe my tale, and even then I failed to protect my shipmaster. There is only one fate that awaits me in their eyes.”

“But you can’t find your brother if you’re dead can you?” Wade asked almost rhetorically, earning a grunt from the Elite. The Spartan recruit shook his head, and it actually sounded like he was laughing inside his helmet. “So now we’re marooned God only knows where, escaping a Covenant ship with two Covvie traitors in tow. Somewhere Mik is laughing his vodka soaked ass off right now.” Immediately the three remaining Spartans looked to their fallen comrade’s body.

“How far to the nearest vehicle bay?”

“Emile,” Torres started, only for his second to round on him.

“We’re not leaving him here for the covvies to make a trophy out of!”

“Unless you have the strength,” Nal growled, walking toward them as he forced a limp out of his stride. “We must. The nearest vehicle bay is Lumn section; five hundred meters aft, and two decks down. With the lifts inoperable, we will have to use the maintenance shafts.”

“Emile,” Torres said, turning his teammate by the shoulder. “I don’t like it either, but it would take both me and Wade to lift him. Your arms busted and Split-lips can barely stand. Wade?” The Spartan recruit stood a little straighter for once. “Do you still have those incendiaries?”

“Yes Sir,” He answered numbly, taking two of the flame grenades off his thigh plate. They took a moment to place the grenades, one between the fallen Spartans knees, the other clasped in his hands, then started to remove what they could of Mikhailov’s armor. They still had no idea where they had landed or how long it would take them to establish contact with a rescue vessel. Their Mjolnir armor was rugged, but it was still technology, and sooner or later they would need to fix it. That didn’t mean all the training they had endured made stripping their fallen comrade of his armor any easier to stomach.

“We ready?” Torres asked, shuffling his feet under the added weight of several Warrior armor components now magnetized to his back. Wade was the only one who didn’t nod, kneeling down and picking up his fallen teammates rocket launcher before fitting the weapon to his back.

“Ready.” The Spartans paid their comrade their last respects while Nal sliced open a wall panel to expose a maintenance shaft. As they entered, Wade tossed the third flame grenade back, covering Mikhailovs body in a swath of flames and quickly igniting the remaining grenades. From there it was simply a matter of following Nal, walking sideways through snarled cables and muscling broken beams out of their path. Until the shaft became a wall.

“Blast,” Nal growled. “The bulkhead must have collapsed in the crash. This way.” As the elite cut into the panels, Thompson pinged his leader through their helmet comms.

“ _How do we know he’s not leading us into a trap_?”

“ _We don’t_ ,” Torres answered, his tone reminding his teammates to keep one eye on their new covenant allies. A final slice let them out into the hall, and whether it was training or stupidity Mekek exited first, Needler raised and scanning only to find the hall way void of life. But not empty.

“Good lord,” Emile gasped, his helmet sealing with a click against the pungent stench of blood and entrails. Every glance and shift of the Spartans heads caused their helmet lights to shine on a new swath of gore, illuminating the vivid spray decorating the halls of Whispering Piety. Jackal, Grunt, and Elite blood covered the walls, painting the light purple metal a dizzying swath of purples, dark and electric blues. The bodies were everywhere, almost to the point you could walk down the hall without ever stepping on the floor. Grunts, Jackals and Elites lay where they had fallen, each and every one mauled nearly beyond recognition.

“Murderous beasts,” Nal hissed, kneeling down to take a handful of carbine batteries off a fallen Jackal as Wade glanced from one corpse to the next.

“This ain’t right. None of this is right.”

“Wade?” Thompson started, not at all in the mood for another of the night-ops specialist’s jokes.

“There’s too many bodies. Regular animals only kill for food but these things … It’s like they were killing just for the hell of it.”

“Quickly,” Nal barked, clipping a discarded plasma rifle to the hip opposite his energy sword and hefting his reloaded carbine toward a sealed door. “The hangar is directly below us.”

“Just get it open,” Mekek toned, watching their back as the Spartans moved toward the door. “I can probably use some of the weapon batteries to charge it long enough to get us down.”

“Wade,” Torres snapped, stowing his SAW as the night ops specialist did the same with his smg. Together the Spartans pulled their combat knives from their hidden holsters, Torres from his right gauntlet, Wade retrieving one of two hidden in his shin armor. After forcing the blades in and the doors seam apart, the Spartans worked their fingers inside and pried the door open. They stepped away, reaching for their weapons just as a glowing blue fireball sailed past their heads.

“GRENADE!” Nal and Thompson dove away, leaving Mekek to duck and cover his head as the grenade stuck to the far wall and exploded in a flash of boiling plasma, the same moment Wade’s gunsight found the grenades light glowing off a Jackal’s eyes. The would be bomber dropped the same moment his grenade went off, slumping back in the elevator against the wall with a new hole between his eyes.

“Shit!” Torres swore, head jerking left and right. “The whole deck will have heard that!”

“No offense boss,” Wade swallowed as a roar echoed throughout the ship.  “But I’m pretty sure it’s not the covenant we have to worry about anymore.” Mekek wasted no time in hotwiring the elevators controls, though he had to sacrifice most of the carbines plasma batteries to bring it back online.

They rode down, weapons ready as the doors slid open only to reveal, surprise, another dark room. Only this one was much, much bigger.

“Okay,” Wade laughed. “So who wants to enter the massive black void of doom first?”

“You’re the night-ops specialist,” Thompson snapped, lifting a leg and unceremoniously kicking his teammate toward the door. Wade grumbled but quickly snapped into his training, vanishing into the dark and letting his radar signature guide his teammates through the titanic space. After five minutes of following, the Spartan recruit blinked his tag for all clear, and the other Spartans activated their helmet lights as Torres turned to face their rag tag group.

“Nal, Wade, see if you can’t find a bird that’s fueled and ready, preferably one with some vehicles loaded on. We don’t know how far we may have to go. Mekek.”

“The answer’s no,” the Grunt, well, grunted, through his gas mask. “When we restarted the drives, the emergency doors shut. Powering a lift for a few seconds is one thing, but I would need enough plasma batteries to bury a Phantom, not to mention Gods only know how much time.”

“Time we cannot depend on,” Nal barked, eyes glancing and focusing through the darkness, making Torres rethink the ONI assessments of Sangheili night vision. “What is the integrity of the emergency doors compared to the hull?”

“Less than half. They’re only meant to be deployed to maintain atmosphere in the event main power fails.” Torres swore he could see a grin forming on the Elites mandibles.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I believe, that a corked bottle is most easily opened from within.” Torres followed Nals line of sight, and felt himself shiver at the sight of a pile of still glowing plasma batteries, easily as tall and wide as a Wraith tank spread out across the hangar floor.

 

* * *

 

Gabi ran through the forest, her Beowolf hunt forgotten. Her eyes darted between the forest and the sky as she ran, avoiding the thicker brush as she kept herself headed toward the thin tendrils of pale blue smoke rising in the distance.

The pack could wait. Whatever it was that had hit Menagerie, it was big, and on Remnant that almost always meant dangerous. She might not be a full Huntress, but Gabi knew it was still her duty to defend the helpless from any threat she could. She started sprinting as the brush thinned out, pouring more strength and aura into her legs as the path climbed toward a rocky ridgeline between her and the new threat. But as she approached the base of the ridge, a black shape darted through the brush to her left.

She stopped, rolling forward end over end and spinning until her feet found ground again, both her weapons drawn and compressed to their sub-machine gun forms. Gabi steadied her sights and senses, training Wash and York as her eyes scanned the forest for any hint of white on black in the green. Then a rustle from behind her, and another from her back, before Gabi realized she’d made the oldest mistake possible for a hunter.

In her haste to chase new prey, she’d neglected the trail and the Grimm pack she had been following. The hunter, was now the hunted.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll give ya this split-lip,” Wade grunted as he heaved plasma battery number, 43 or 44, up and onto the growing pile of improvised explosives. “Even if this doesn’t work at least it’ll **look** damn impressive.” The elite only snarled, growling through tight mandibles as he lifted another battery into place, refusing to let his obviously painful injury slow him down. Torres couldn’t help but remember Mikhailov’s own stubborn refusal to accept a medics attention until after their mission was complete.

“ _Thompson, Mekek_ ,” he called, putting his own plasma battery in place before looking back and away from the vehicle bar doors. “ _How’s that get away coming_?”

“ _Almost ready_ ,” the Spartan enforcers voice crackled. It appeared _Whispering Piety_ had been leaving a battle when it was caught unawares, as all the Phantoms and Spirits had plenty of vehicles and equipment still waiting to be unloaded. Their choice had been easy enough, a Phantom with a few more plasma burns on it than the others, but still carrying a Type-32 Ghost, and two old, but still working, according to their new grunt friend at least, Type 48 Revenants.  

“ _Grunt says all the engines need is a few more ticks to warm up, then we’re off and running_.”

“ _I have a name ya damn monkey_.” Torres sighed at the realization he now had not one, but two smart mouths to keep shut, as Nal heaved another battery onto the pile.

“There, that should be sufficient to effect our escape. All it requires is a spark.”

“So,” Wade huffed, leaning slightly on the pile of volatile improvised explosives. “Just as long as one of us can shoot straight with a turret and the phantom’s got juice, we’re home free.”

He knew better, or at least Miguel thought Wade knew better. But apparently their brush with deaths backside on Instillation 03 wasn’t enough to teach Taurus 4 not to tempt fate. Now he got another lesson, in the form of the hangar lights coming back on.

“The hell?!”

“SHIT!” Mekek screamed, loud enough to be heard all the way across the hangar without the comms. “ _They must’ve rerouted reserve power! Life supports probably already coming back online_!”

“Weapons?” Torres asked, the Spartans and Elite already sprinting back toward the Phantom they had prepped.

“ _Last on the list, thank the Gods. But we need to hurry! The next systems back online will be the doors and_.”

A single chime echoed through the hangar, the soft whoosh of a door sliding open, followed by the confused babble of a Jackal troupe.

“ … _Lifts_.” No one on their side of the room dared move. Of all the covenant Jackals were the most trigger happy. All it would take was one wrong move and they’d start … fighting each other?

The Spartans and their allies could only watch and wonder as one of the jackals started to raise his carbine, only for another to smack it down. They started jabbering back and forth, the argument swiftly joined by a third, fourth, then the fifth Jackal until the troupe had split down the uneven middle.

“Should we … stop them or something?” Wade asked, frozen where he had paused reaching for the rocket launcher.

“Don’t bother,” Nal scoffed, resuming his walk toward the phantom. “Kig-yar have always been pirates at heart. They likely intend the same escape as we do, and are simply debating whether to kill us before or after leaving the ship.” Torres nodded, not willing to stop and count their lucky stars as the Jackals argument devolved into a screeching match.

“Then let’s move before they deci.” A roar echoed, ripped through the air, stopping Spartans, Elite, and Jackals alike and turning them toward the far end of the vehicle bay. Then came another roar, one that sounded much, much closer.

“Hey Nal?” Wade asked, completely too calm for the situation.

“Yes?”

“Covenant doors are all motion sensor activated right?”

“Correct.”

“Good to know. Now if I could make a suggestion, RUN!” The three soldiers turned and bolted, rushing toward the phantom, only for searing green plasma bolts and bright violet needles to start flying past their heads.

“ _I think they made up their minds_!” Thompson yelled, the Phantom’s engines glowing as the transport floated higher, ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

“Cease your yammering!” Nal barked, “and fly you fools!” He leapt forward, diving and rolling end over end until he had turned just enough to unhook and lob a plasma grenade. Instantly the Jackals stopped, yellow eyes wide and horrified as the blue fireball arced through the air, landing between the frames of two of the piled high batteries. They turned back to the lift just as Miguel’s feet left the hangar floor, the Spartan soldier vanishing into the Phantoms hold as the explosion ripped the doors apart.

Unfortunately, none of the fleeing party had given very much thought to exactly how and where their ship had landed. In truth, Nal’s estimation was off. The batteries didn’t have enough explosive power to open the doors enough for the Phantom. They had more than enough to weaken the doors though, and the ocean waiting just outside did the rest.  


	5. Lights Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes come to but the first of many meetings along the path.

“But I’m telling you there’s something out there!”

“And I told you beat it!” Simon had to jump ahead, stumbling onto his hands and knees to avoid falling face down in the dirt. He turned around, ready to pounce back only to find the door slamming shut behind him. “Don’t come back here unless you got business punk!”

Simon snarled through clenched teeth, but a quick glance around confirmed that, as usual, anyone who wasn’t out right ignoring him was looking at him like a side show. He settled for a few more curses under his breath before stuffing his hands into his pockets and trudging back toward the Warf and the water front. As soon as his catch was in and stored in the few ice-dust lined crates he had, Simon immediately tried to gather the few other fishermen and sailors he thought he could call friends and investigate the … whatever it was. Simon knew he had never seen anything like, and he’d probably never forget it, but he seemed to be the only one.

So far none of the other fishers, townspeople, or anyone for that matter, was talking about a metal monster falling out of the sky in a ball of fire. Simon cringed at his own description. Maybe he did sound crazy after all. He was just starting to rethink his curiosity when something, or someone, ran into his legs.

“Ooff!” He turned around and quickly knelt down when he recognized the tiny form now sitting at his feet.

“Now what are you doing all alone?” He asked, helping the small girl onto her feet as she brushed off her faded gray dress. When she didn’t say anything and kept her icy blue eyes on the ground, hands pinching at her dress he knew what was up.

“Engel, did you run away again?” Her only response a quick darting glance up through her thick head of shoulder length black curls, but it was all the answer Simon needed.

“Come on then,” he groaned, offering her his hand. “Let’s see how todays catch tastes.”

“Y-you’re not gonna take me back?” She asked nervously, only now meeting his eyes fully, and reminding him just how cute the little girl looked with one of her long curly bangs falling over her right eye.

“Not yet,” he smirked, making Engel shrink back a little with a scowl on her face. He knew he shouldn’t, but the girl was just too adorable when she got into a mood. “But seeing as its the third time this month you’ve managed to give Umbra of all people the slip, I think someone deserves a treat. Lunch is on me.”

With Engels hand in his they headed back to the Warf, through the narrow streets and alley ways that became a maze every morning when the various vendors and merchants opened to sell what they could before the sun drove everyone back inside. He kept a tight grip on her digits, careful not to let her slip away, by design or the congestion of bodies all around them. Engel only came to his waist at most, so for her, if was like walking through a moving forest of giants.

But he didn’t need to look down to feel the child shifting her shoulders, the anxious flexing and stretching of her back and torso against some invisible force. This was how he always found her when she managed to slip Umbras grasp, wandering the streets and looking as uncomfortable as a long tail cat in a rocking chair store. He had his theories, make no mistake. Simon knew Engel didn’t love visiting his shop just for his moms the fried fish recipe, but the view it gave her over the harbor and piers. And more importantly, the sea birds.

He caught her staring all the time, the six year olds eyes wide and awe struck as she watched the feathered fliers take off and land almost effortlessly, then go soaring back into the cloudy heavens. He recognized the other look in her eyes too, a dreadful, painful longing. She wanted to fly. Then Simon realized she could, in fact she had. Right out of the young fisherman’s grasp.

He snapped back around, looking down through the crowd’s legs for the familiar mess of black hair, only to realize two things.

“I lost her. Umbra’s gonna kill me.”

 

* * *

 

Outside the still creaking hull’s wreckage, the Menagerie waves had resumed their attack on the shore line, battering the super carriers hull like it was just another cliff.

There was no warning before the lazy foaming surf exploded, erupting like a geyser as a sleek purple ship burst from the water, its twin engines roaring over the crashing waves as it dragged itself and the vehicles slung beneath it into the sky. It was almost a loud as the Phantoms pilot.

“HOLY CRAP THIS THING MOVES!” Miguel ripped off his helmet, silently thanking whoever was listening the Phantoms main flight controls were a covenant joystick, and at the same time praying the Taurus’ pilot didn’t try any of his usual stunts with their getaway ride.

“Easy!” Mekek snapped from the co-pilots seat, likely holding on for dear life. “Water and plasma don’t mix! Push the engines too hard you’re gonna!”  A snarling twisting explosion finished the grunts reprimand for him, the glowing head of the Phantoms left engine vanishing in a shower of sparks and bright blue flames.

“THOMPSON!”

“It was probably broke before I got it anyway!” The Spartan enforcer screamed back, already angling the transport into a climbing bank, up away from the wreck and over the cliffs. Mekek quickly rerouted power away from the burning engine, stopping the flames but dropping their speed.

“We have ten more minutes of flight left before the other engine goes too,” he snapped as Torres forced his armored shoulders through the half jammed doors and into the cockpit.

“Just find somewhere we can unload,” he groaned, glaring hole into the back of his seconds helmet. “I’d rather have wheels on the ground than your ass in the sky any day. Mekek, can you fly this thing?”

“I am able,” Nal said, padding up behind the Spartan, almost as if he was trying to be heard.

“Then take over,” he said, giving Nal a look that said Thompson had no vote in the matter. As the elite muscled the Spartan pilot out of his chair, Miguel hauled him out by his less battered left arm.

“And you,” he sighed leading Thompson out of the cockpit. “Hold still.” Thompson nearly objected, about to tell his commander where he could shove it and force his way back behind the controls when Miguel grabbed his limp shoulder, and the pain returned en masse.

Back in the cockpit, Mekek was doing his best to keep them flying, but his natural curiosity wouldn’t let him leave well enough alone.

“Nal?” He ventured, not bothering to look up. He knew the young Sangheili would never take his eyes off the screen before him. “Was this smart? Running?”

“You spoke true,” He said flatly. “ _Whispering Piety_ will never fly again. Once it was clear you could only fix so much, your usefulness would have been at an end.” Mekek slumped back into the copilot’s seat, knowing Nal was right. Without the title engineer on his name he’d be just another unggoy to the Elites, cannon fodder for any enemies they might make, wherever they were.

“You really think we can find Harka?” Nal said nothing, his focus completely on his task, or at least it appeared so.

Could they find him? He knew he’d seen Harka being abducted, that he _couldn’t_ have any doubt of. But what guarantee did they have he was even on this planet? And where were they anyway? The topography and readings blinking across the control console looked to him like any other human world. Similar trees, landscapes. Even the air patterns and weather conditions all matched the countless worlds that now weighed on Nals heart. If they were on a human world, this would be a very short escape for he and Mekek. But if they weren’t …

Could he trust them? Could two covenant turn coats really afford to put their faith in three Spartans? If this world was one of theirs they would turn on them in a heartbeat, but if it wasn’t and they were indeed stranded, then Nal’s search had just become much more complicated. His obstacles it seemed, were only just beginning.

“Thompson needs a medic,” Torres said returning to the door, standing between and behind the two ex-covenant. “The bio-foam’s holding but he needs a doctor, soon.”

“We are approaching a break in the forest,” Nal supplied quickly. “We may land there.”

“There’s a ridge line coming up,” Mekek added, turning to face the Spartan commander. “Scans aren’t specific, but there might be a cave we can hide the Phantom in.”

“Then go for it,” he said tiredly, leaning back against the cramped walls. “What about signs of a settlement?”

“Nothing,” Mekek admitted sourly. “No plasma readings, no air traffic, not even a comm signal. Whatever planet we’re on, its either deserted or a primitive backwater.”

“I don’t know about you,” Wade half yelled from back aft, sitting beside one of the Phantoms stored side turrets. “But I’ll take empty woods and rednecks over those black and white freaks any day.”

“Red necks?” Nal asked, glancing up at the Spartan soldier.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Miguel sighed, leaning away from the wall and forward slightly as Mekek banked the Phantom up and over a rise in the terrain.

“There,” he said pointing to a cavity on the display grid. “That looks like a big enough cave.”

“Hold this position,” Torres replied, pushing his helmet back down as he exited the cockpit. “Wade, we’re going down.” For once the Spartan recruit said nothing, simply hopped to his feet and pumped the action of his old teammates shotgun. Between the tension and the quiet, Miguel couldn’t help himself as they dropped down the Phantoms gravity lift.

“One small step for man.”

 

* * *

 

Leap! Dodge left! Roll forward!

Gabi’s mind was drunk on adrenaline, her training clouded by survival instincts and the primal thrill of the fight. She parried another Beowolf’s strike, its claws glancing off Wash’s axe head as she brought York up from beneath, recoil from three dust rounds driving the blade through the Grimms gut. She kept moving, spinning with Yorks momentum and bringing both weapons over her head to block another Beowolf’s hammer strike. The ground beneath her compacted and cratered as her body and aura took the blow, before Gabi spun beneath it, twisting from her feet up putting the Grimm off balance and tumbling forward before Wash and York’s blades found its knees. She spun again, axes raised and ready to leap at the next pounce. So far she had crippled one beowolf and maimed another but even without a scroll beeping in her ear she could feel her aura waning.

Gabi cursed. Most other hunters could clean up a pack no problem, but her lack of a long range weapon meant she had to get up close to kill Grimm, playing right into the beowolves’ claws. She might have enough aura left for her semblance, but it only hid her image, not her scent, and she couldn’t risk channeling it into a strike without draining herself completely. Five beowolves were still circling her, the four smaller Grimm taunting her as a much larger, older, and heavily armored Alpha snarled its commands.

“Well?” she asked with half a laugh, sweat pouring down behind her hood. “I haven’t got all day chicken legs.”

 

* * *

 

“Looks like she’ll fit,” Torres said, walking out of the cave that was to be their hideout for now. “It’ll be tight, but its deep enough that if we move some brush no one will see the Phantom.”

“Great,” Mekek growled, the grunt now half hanging half head standing in front of the transports damaged engine. “Because this is gonna take me weeks to fix!”

“One problem at a time,” The Spartan soldier sighed. “For now let’s just get that thing inside and hidden.” The grunt obliged, mumbling through his mask about pilots and miracle workers before hoping back inside the cockpit and power up the engines long enough to hover the transport into the cave. Torres walked over to the center of the rocky clearing where Nal and Wade were taking stock of their supplies.

The vehicles were more or less in working order, the Revenants only slightly looking their age, and the Ghost only sported a handful of palm size scorch marks. Firearms wise their prospects were mixed. Besdies what they had managed to carry with them off the shop, the had a dozen and a half plasma grenades, 14 needler crystal cartridges, eleven batteries for Nal’s carbine, and three plasma pistols, not including the one Thompson traded for his borrowed M6. The Spartans weapon stock wasn’t much better. The SAW only had four drums of ammo left, eight shots for the grenade launcher, and Wade’s smg was on its last pair of magazines. The rocket had four rounds left, and the shotgun only the six shells still loaded. Torres knew he only had seven magazines remaining for his pistols. If the Covenant decided to come after them before the Phantom was fixed, they wouldn’t last long.

“We must go,” Nal said, storing his weapons across his armor as he walked up to the Spartan, mandibles splayed slightly and his eyes twitching left and right. “We cannot linger here.”

“Afraid your old buddies will come looking?” Wade laughed, holstering his smg, a plasma pistol, and a pair of blue grenades. Torres didn’t expect the elite to share in the joke, but it wasn’t anger in the sangheilis voice either.

“Can’t you feel it? These woods, this place. Something watches our every move, as if the very trees have eyes.”

“You said it yourself there was nothing on the scanners,” Thompson added. “And last I checked those were set for human _and_ covenant signals and bio signs right?”

“Yes,” Nal said, still anxious and light on his feet. “But the creatures we encountered did not register on our radar, nor heat vision. As if they were not truly there at all.”

“Okay will you frigg’n stop?!” Wade snapped, suddenly rounding on the Elite in pure unbridled frustration.

“Cease what?”

“That! The whole super eloquent space dino thing! Just talk normal for one minute will ya?!”  As Wade started in on a tirade, venting all the frustrations his snark had accumulated in the rough hour since their mission began, Thompson walked over to his commander, seeing a familiar tension in the Spartan leader’s shoulders.

“Boss?” He asked hesitantly, even when he already knew the problem.

“I’m fine,” Torres heaved, his breathing obviously constricted inside his armor even as the faint rattling of metal sounded from his weapon.

“The hell you are.” The enforcer grabbed Torres by the shoulder, turning the Spartan until they were visor to visor. “How long since your last dose?”

“Thompson.”

“How. Long.” The Spartans locked eyes, waiting for each other to back down, but Miguel already knew his second wouldn’t.

“24 hundred hours last night,” he said robotically, hoping the half answer would placate his teammates concern, but Thompsons gaze never wavered.

“And?” His commander silence was all the answer Thompson needed.

“Dammit Miguel, how many times have we told you not to do this?! You know what comes after one of those nightmares! You having a panic attack is the last thing we need right now!”

“You don’t think I know that?!” Torres hissed, voice low to avoid the others ears. “I’m the one who has to live through this shit! The only Spartan in the UNSC with a friggin anxiety disorder.”

_And no meds_ , he added silently, realizing he might be just as much a liability to his teammates as the other obstacles mounting against them, not including the animosity already escalating between a certain Spartan recruit and Elite.

“And you prattle on simply to hear your own voice!” Nal roared, fists clenched and mandibles splayed in sheer frustration. “Must you make every circumstance and misfortune into a joke?! Or can you not take satisfaction that my former compatriots and I are now stranded in your kinds midst?!”

“You really think this planet’s one of ours?!” Wade laughed as the elite crossed his arms.

“The fauna certainly matches that of your worlds.” That got Torres attention. A quick glance around the clearing that surrounded the cave mouth confirmed that much of the brush did resemble earth species, from ferns and pines to wild flowers and grasses.

“Well here’s news for you split-lip: we ain’t on any human, forerunner, **_or_** covenant world! Not unless one of your planets has one of those!” He jabbed a finger up into the sky, making the Spartans, Elite and Grunt now waddling out of the cave crane their necks up to see the mid-morning ghost of a shattered moon hanging in the sky.

 

* * *

 

Gabi bit down, blood filling her mouth as she felt herself skip end over end across the ground, until her back collided with a tree. But more than the hammer blow that knocked the wind from her lungs, Gabi felt the sickening snap of her Aura breaking. She could feel blood trickling from the edge of her lips, but she ignored it. She had too. Of the seven beowolves that had caught her by surprise, only one remained. That wouldn’t be a problem, if it wasn’t the Alpha.

Thinking back Gabi really did wish she paid more attention during Grimm Studies. The lectures were long, incoherent rambling, but now she was face to face with very real evidence of Grimm intelligence. The Alpha had been toying with her the whole time, letting his pack tire her out and drain her aura, the younger Grimm taking Gabi’s attacks while they depleted her aura to the point all it took was a well-placed strike to send her flying.

The huntress forced herself to stand, York shifting back into tomahawk form as she trained Wash’s sights, only to feel the gut wrenching weight of an empty magazine. A flick of the wrist shifted it back to melee mode, and behind bleeding lips she recited an old battle prayer Derrick had taught her.

_Lo there do I see my father._ Gabi tried to imagine an old face, worn with time and worry.

_Lo there do I see my mother and my sisters and my brothers._ She tried to picture a smile, full of love and caring, warm and welcoming alongside a line of faces so much like her own.

_Lo, they do call to me, and bid me take my place among them_. She imagined them standing side by side, arms out and reaching, offering, waiting for her. Ready to let her remember.

_In the halls of Dragonaire, where the brave may live on._ The Alpha snarled, teeth flashing as its claws flexed, pawing at the ground in rabid anticipation. Ready to feel its reward as her bones cracked in its grasp, as Gabi’s mind conjured one more into the procession awaiting her, a young lion faunus with golden hair.

_Into eternity._

“See ya soon partner.” Then she charged the Alpha, screaming at the top of her lungs.

 

* * *

 

“By the Gods,” Nal gasped, stepping back for a better view, likely imagining the power needed to tear the satellite to pieces as Thompson swallowed dread down his drying throat.

“We really are off the map aren’t we?” He asked, casting a sideways glance at his leader, only to see his CO frozen in place. No UNSC planet was known for any sort of satellite deformity, save for a few captured asteroids.

_So why does it look so damn familiar?_

“ ** _RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH_**!” The entire party stopped, Spartans and ex-covenant alike pausing in confusion as the scream ripped through the air.

“Was that a girl?” Wade asked almost rhetorically only a second before a roar like thunder answered. Years and many adventures later, Thompson would still claim he’d never seen his CO move as fast as he did when the monsters roar tore through the woods.

“BOSS!” But Miguel was already moving, off and running toward the sound. Even after years he would never admit to being on the razor edge of a panic attack when he took off. Training, augmentation, and fifteen years of mental scars were suddenly not at war, but allied under three words echoing through the Spartans helmet like the tone of a gong.

_Not this time._

He charged through the underbrush, trampling and breaking as tree trunks became blurs around him. This time he was looking ahead. He saw the cliff, and he heard the monster going for the kill. He jumped, enhanced muscles and bone structure vaulting him high, off and over the edge, before gravity brought him down on the beasts back.

He kicked out, armored boots and legs slamming into the creature’s spine like a car, knocking it off and away from the young woman formerly pinned beneath its claws. Torres rolled with the impact, popping up on one knee, taking only a millisecond to aim before his SAW came to life in his hands. But just like before the beast ignored the bullets, roaring a charging through the lead storm, raging hatred flowing free from its burning eyes.

By some stroke of genius or stupidity, Torres kept firing until the drum was dry, by which the monster was already on top of him. Training took a back seat. The SAW fell to the dirt, armored hands flying up to meet outstretched claws as his legs slid back, ready just in time for the Monsters armored paws to slam into his own with the force of a loaded Warthog.

 

* * *

 

Gabi could feel the concussion coming. She had only managed a few slashing strikes before the Alpha backhanded her across the clearing, sending her headfirst into the ground. She could feel the world fading, blurring into nothing even as the Grimm lunged for the final finish. Then the clap of armor on bony armor, a scraping landing, and the crack of gunfire. As her vision faded in and out, she caught the sight of a giant figure in olive green and black armor grappling with the Grimm.

 

* * *

 

Torres felt his boots slide through the dirt and grass, but he also felt the beast struggling against his grasp. Its clawed feet were scraping, gouging the ground as its jaws snapped just beyond his visor. It looked exactly like the monster in his dream, wolf like head and legs with white rock and bone jutting through black fur and flesh like armor as its red maw and eyes tried to devour him. It was easily twice his size, and madder than hell at the Spartan standing between it and its kill. It kept lunging, straining its neck and head forward until its jaws sprayed wet across his visor.

_Too Close_. Miguel almost felt a passenger as training kicked in, old motions amplified through armor against a new enemy. His right arm twisted, grip reversing as his right shoulder heaved up, the other hauling down. He ducked his head, the beast’s jaws clamping over air as it was twisted off its feet, and its left arm gave a sickening pop. It fell, dislocated shoulder down in the dirt and Miguel wasted no time. He pounced, pulling his knife from its gauntlet sheath and burying it in the creature’s neck as it stumbled back to its feet. It thrashed and spun, trying to throw him off, instead forcing the Spartan to find another hand hold on the other side of its head, and plant his feet across its shoulder blades. But before he could twist its neck apart, the beast found its inner pet, and rolled over.

Earth rushed up faster than he could bail. Armor compressed into itself, taking the brunt and bracing against the crushing weight as Miguel clamped down. As soon as its chest was in the dirt, He acted, locking his legs across its shoulders and twisting its head, pulling and turning until.

CRACK!

The beast dropped, vicious coiled muscle suddenly limp and lifeless, falling on its front with its tongue falling out its jaws. Miguel rolled away, onto his back as his chest and helmet vents heaved oxygen into his lungs. Before he even had his breath back he was on his feet again, running toward the limp figure across the clearing even as the monster collapsed into black smoke.

“Boss! Miguel!” He barely heard Wade’s voice finally arrive, he was too focused on the woman lying in a crumpled heap.

 The last thing Gabi knew before blacking out was someone shouting, then the olive giant kneeling in front of her. He said something to her, asked her something, but all she could do was twitch her eyes, her vision finally falling into black as the giant removed his helmet, giving her the barest glimpse of mocha skin and green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time our Halo Heroes begin to learn just how far off the map they've traveled, while a dark queen begins her designs on a captive warrior. 
> 
> As always if you want to see more, Review and Comment below!
> 
> And yes, I made the beowolves a slightly bigger threat than they are in the show.


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